


The Silver Cat

by crockywock



Series: The Prince's Tale [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Illnesses, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-Canon, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 68,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crockywock/pseuds/crockywock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Believed dead and bereft of nearly all his magic, Severus Snape is now in hiding. He once again has to navigate through the maze that is pureblood society, despite being confined to Minerva McGonagall's childhood home. SS/MM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The building was smaller than your average pure-blood manor. Severus had taken notice of this on the first day of his arrival, but thought nothing of it initially. The outer gritstone walls formed a triangle, the corners of which marked the central points of the three main living areas: the West Wing with the entrance area, the East Wing, which extended into the inner yard, and the Northern Front, which mutilated the triangle into a not-so-geometric shape by featuring a castle-like tower at its tip, on top of which, for all Severus knew, a massive time-turner held the building in a constant temporal vacuum. This enabled the house to move back and forth in time, thus the puniness of the place.

“The office is behind the fifth door to the right,” the House-Elf had said. “Don’t knock, just be punctual. The lady won’t wait.”

The downstairs floor was carpeted, the tapestry featured a ghastly tartan pattern. This had to be the right direction. He had been walking for several minutes already, having come from the part of the manor where his own room was situated. And unless there were ball rooms behind these doors… ah, there it was! Number five. It looked like an office door, too. Severus stopped for a moment, scanning his robes for crinkles, and then entered, closing the door behind himself in one, smooth movement. He found that this engulfed him in complete darkness. It was not a particularly pleasant impression. Too “Dark Lord” for his taste.

For a moment, he just stood, trying to get used to the darkness, sure that he was not alone. Then, something –or someone- in the back of the room moved.

“Punctuality is of vital importance in this household, Half-blood, I thought you might have realised that by now.”

“I apologise for being late,” said Severus politely, completely certain that he was not. “The basement corridor is rather longer than one might expect at first glance…”

“You are early,” was the cold reply. “By almost two minutes. Sit!”

Severus looked around. His eyes were slowly beginning to adapt to the darkness and the outline of a chair became visible the very moment a flash of wand light from the other end of the room made everything go white. This was the thing about pure-bloods – if they tried to impress you, they did it with all means available to them. Light was a classic.

The lady ignited several torches, which were hanging on the walls all around him. Severus covered his eyes with his hands and sat.

“Thank you for…”

“You will speak when addressed,” stated his opposite. When he could remove his hands, Severus gave her a calculating look. The lady was a tall woman of at least a hundred years of age and clothed in a black pure-blood gown of no particular fashion as far as he could tell. Her face looked as though it was commonly used for the display of contempt in varying degrees, which in itself was not unusual for a witch of the lady’s generation. She was surrounded by an aura of complete authority, the likes of which Severus had only ever seen in two people before. He could not help being reminded of the fact that, in both cases, he had felt obliged to address the person in question as “master”…

“You will be surprised about this summons,” said the lady now. She remained standing, her hands folded elegantly in front of her gown, her gaze directed at the torches on the wall rather than him. Severus tried to ignore this.

“A little,” he said truthfully.

“You have been living under this roof for quite a while now,” continued his opposite unmovingly. “I find that it is time for the two of us to get to know each other a little. – Ah, it is good to see that you recognise the breach in protocol,” said the lady. “Shall we have some tea?”

Severus nodded mutely. The lady raised an eyebrow. It took the black-haired wizard several seconds to realise that she expected him to do the rest.

“Forgive me…”

“Don’t apologise. Just do it!”

“You realise, of course, that I have still not fully recovered…”

“However did you survive the last war with such a hesitant disposition? Show me!”

Severus produced his wand, giving her a quizzical look.

“Darjeeling?”

The lady graced this with an approving nod. “Very good. You can remember things.”

Severus concentrated on the summons. Even simple spells were hard work these days, after the Shack incident…

“Accio teapot,” he said, embarrassed by the sound of his own voice. Mute spells were still very much out of the question, of course. The lady’s mouth curled into a miniscule sneer.

“Well done. I am glad to see that I am no longer playing host to a completely magicless creature. This speaks in your favour.”

She waited until Severus had poured her a cup of tea, and eventually lowered down on an armchair opposite the window, which was rather higher and more richly decorated than his own, plain one.

“I don’t have to tell you, of course,” said the lady calmly, as though explaining Arithmancy to a very small child, “that your presence in this house constitutes a huge imposition on myself and my husband. Especially as it now seems as though it will be rather prolonged.”

“Rather shorter than expected it seems,” Severus threw in, “by about three or four years.”

“Well, rejoice,” remarked the lady dryly. “That leaves only about six or seven years to go, does it not?”

“I was given to understand that you agreed to this arrangement,” observed the Snape, attempting to catch her gaze out of habit.

“And so I did,” said the woman. “Mainly on my husband’s behalf, who is very intent on satisfying our daughter’s wishes wherever he can, I have to say. But I have begun to see a certain benefit in the endurance of a constant liability to my status and reputation under my roof. Pure-blood society has its rules, you know, with which you are, of course, more than familiar, judging from your former circle of acquaintances.”

“Lucius Malfoy has been a good friend,” replied Severus, very interested in what kind of benefit she might be refering to. “He was able to overlook the, ah, shortcomings of my societal status in exchange for some companionship.”

“You want me to believe that Lucius Malfoy would be as foolish as to put his personal desires over political and societal considerations?” For the first time, she seemed surprised. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We were young,” Severus concluded calmly. “Boys can be foolish.”

“Very much so,” agreed his opposite smugly. “Indeed, it is much more fashionable to have daughters these days, although this is one of the few things my good friend Lady Warrington-Selwyn and I cannot seem to agree upon. Well, but if it is only companionship you have to offer, I am afraid the two of us will not have much to discuss tonight.”

“You will find that there a quite a lot of changes in a man between the ages of thirteen and thirty-eight,” said Severus calmly.

The lady sneered, pretend-examining one of the torches on the wall. Her gaze was stubbornly directed at anything but Severus, who found that this probed his patience more than anything else in this conversation. If she would only look at him once more… perhaps he might attempt to revive some remains of his Legilimency after all... It seemed worth the risk.

“A man,” said the lady quietly now. “Hardly. But you must feel that way, of course, having a life expectancy of… what, a century, perhaps?”

“A little more,” said Severus curtly, feeling his blood beginning to boil. This was new. And unpractical. “Halfbloods have been known to live up to one hundred and fifty years or more.”

“That is astonishing,” remarked the lady dryly. “Well, lets hope this counts for you as well. The Princes are one of our oldest lines, of course, and surprisingly pure in blood before you came along, if I may add. You realise that my husband is a practical historian and in the fortunate position to double-check on these matters?”

“Yes…?” said Severus through clenched teeth. “I must say, I don’t quite…”

“I don’t remember inviting questions,” cut the lady in, flicking her wand for more tea. Severus felt an unpleasant tingle gush through his body. This commonly happened when someone performed magic spells in his close reach, but the strength depended on the spell caster.

“The Princes were always a rather distinguished line, and it is wasted on your Muggle father, if I may say so,” said the lady sharply, finally seeming to freely speak her mind. “I intend to remedy this and I will require your assistance in doing so.”

“In what way?”

“I have a proposal to make, Half-blood,” replied the lady, looking as though she was adressing her tea. “And I advise you to listen carefully. This is a singular opportunity for you to secure your place in our society without resorting to, ah, Death Eater means, now that the times of constant bloodshed are hopefully over.”

Severus felt his body grow tense, sure that the lady had noticed.

“You realise, of course,” she said slowly, very pointedly pronouncing every word, “that my daughter is on the lookout for a husband. What you may not have noticed, however, is that she has also chanced to fall in love with you. A very unpractical habit of hers, I may add, but there you go. This is what I have to work with. As it happens, I think now that a link between the Prince line and my own may be very beneficial for both…”

“What is in it for you?” Severus cut in, unable to stop himself, his entire concentration now on whether or not he could learn more of her true intentions by means of Legilimency.

“I shall withdraw this offer if you interrupt me one more time, Halfblood!” hissed the lady, suddenly leaning forward so that she was now uncomfortably close to his face and hair. For the first time, her eyes focused entirely on him, making him reel with sickness. There was no time, even, to attempt penetration. His thoughts were swirling, spinning, not his own and yet he was suddenly filled with the knowledge that he was completely alone in his head. Legilimency? Used by a distinguished member of society such as this one? A preposterous thought! And how dare he question her motives? Severus felt foolish and insignificant for a moment. Then, the impression was suddenly gone, leaving only bleakness in its wake.

“You can rest assured," said Vesta McGillivray, "that I have very good reasons for wanting a link with the Prince line. I also happen to think it is very practical that you cannot leave this house on your own accord. It is of great interest to me that my dear Minerva should not stumble into yet another relationship, which she feels she will have to end on her own terms and against my explicit wishes by means of a divorce. Merlin knows, the first one was sensational enough. So your little hanky-panky ‘accidental’ handholding kind of nonsense behaviour that I have had to endure in recent weeks may continue uninterrupted. Also,” she leaned back again, putting her fingers together, “I do believe the two of us could make a spectacular team during political and social gatherings if you work some more on those little mind-reading skills of yours. For now, I have to say, you can save your energy and direct them to more important things, such as a reasonable answer to my kind offer.”


	2. An Evening Exposition

**Hamish McGillivray: “Blood Purity – The Delusion of A Family”**

_– Excerpt 1: On the British Wizarding Army’s Role between 1900 and 1962_

_In the early days of the twentieth century, wizardry was considered a privilege, which, if necessary, needed to be defended with one’s life. The British Wizarding Army, still very much at large at that time and busy securing the old colonial borders in Africa and South East Asia, was still stationed within the country as well as without, primarily in order to enforce the magical law and to maintain control of Azkaban, the wizard prison. (Up to the present day, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement receives a considerable amount of extra subsidy from the veteran funds on account of employing the majority of former officers who have gone into early retirement.) The Auror Department, of course, was only created with the arrival of Minister for Magic Nobby Leach in 1962, so the entire first wizarding war (the one referred to by many as “the point in time when Grindelwald taught us to kill our own kind” (Bagshot 1978: 5)) was actually fought between Grindelwald’s followers and the wizarding army. Not only were those soldiers pure-bloods, they also counted as “the best of our kind”, for the wizarding army never accepted anyone but the children of the “purest” families among their ranks._

_My studies show that it is for this very reason (namely the fact that fathers wanted to see their sons acquire the highest ranks in the very respected wizarding army) that families have always striven to hush up any existing links with Muggle lines or Squib relatives (who were regarded as the outcome of blood mixing). This paper will examine the link between the old wizarding army and our society’s contemporary obsession with blood purity. I will also show and provide conclusive evidence that there is not one wizarding family to date who fulfils the traditional requirement of being “seven or more generations Muggle-free” in order to count as truly “pure”._

~*~

The day had been drawing to a quiet close and McGillivray Manor’s main living area was engulfed in silence. Only a fickle shimmer of light remained in the otherwise perfectly dark downstairs corridor. Unsurprisingly, at this time of the day, it came through the gap between the office door and the cold stone floor – marble, as it happened, for the downstairs rooms of the West Wing had only recently been refurbished.

Every now and then, much to any accidental onlooker’s surprise, the sound of voices penetrated the obstinate silence, sometimes in the shape of poem-like recital, sometimes in form of a sudden burst of laughter. For the most part, the laughter belonged to a woman of over seventy wizarding years, an academic by profession, and currently in her final week of Christmas holidays, which she had decided to spend at home with her parents, daughter, and a perpetual guest by the name of Severus Snape, whose health, these days, depended wholly on the magical constituents of the manor’s time-turner field. This was due to a grave injury that had almost resulted in the young Half-blood’s death several times during the past few months. In fact, Severus Snape was now considered a perpetual resident insofar as, should he venture to leave Minerva’s parents’ premises unsupervised, his theurgic system ran risk of collapsing and leaving him dead or, worse, without any magic at all in a manner of seconds. And because the Snape cherished his magic (and his life), he had spent the past six months within the building’s massive walls, either busying himself with the content of his landlord’s extensive library, or, more frequently, attending therapy sessions, which, all too closely, resembled Hogwarts lessons in basic conjuring, levitation, and other useful kinds of everyday magic. Only twice had the young wizard left the premises so far, both times with good reason and under the watchful eye of two healers and his personal attendant, the nurse Toke.

Minerva, willing to be of as much assistance as possible, had spent every free moment of her working life (namely her weekends and holidays) at home in order to assist Severus in every way she could. Severus, being the man he was, had accepted her help and charity only grudgingly and undertaken every attempt of improving his critical condition as quickly as possible, always insisting that one day he would be able to repay her.

“Look at this,” said Minerva’s voice now, and the sound of parchment being shoved across a wooden surface appeared. “Question 5: Whose spell did you think was most successful? – ‘I think mine was best!’”

“Ts. I love me, who do you love?” replied Severus’s voice smoothly. “Typical Gryffindor fashion”

“Let me see,” replied the deputy headmistress, checking the top of the parchment. “This one is… Fiona Fraser, first year Slytherin.”

“I keep saying you ought to have the Sorting Hat checked for posttraumatic stress symptoms,” remarked her friend without looking up from his own parchment. “Say, who is this smooth-quilled genius who thinks their rabbit was probably thankful to get an additional pair of legs?”

“What does it say at the top?” enquired Minerva.

“Nothing. This writer’s identity remains a mystery.”

“Definitely a Slytherin then, or a Hufflepuff then. This comes of being concerned with making friends more than with school work in your first weeks of school.”

Severus raised a single eyebrow, looking very doubtful indeed. Minerva gave him an apologetic smile.

“A lot of former Slytherins were the first ones to agree with Lucius Malfoy’s plans of reinstating the old wizarding army,” she then replied with a Dumbledore-like air about her.

“No wonder,” observed Severus. “Most Slytherin parents are pure-blood material. They would have undergone basic training themselves. Wasn’t it Lucius’s year who were the last to be shipped down to Africa during the summer holidays?”

“The one above him,” replied Minerva. Severus shrugged.

“I never really knew any of them. Bellatrix and Lucius were the oldest students I ever had the pleasure to spend my library hours with. What is this?”

“A letter to the Ministry asking for approval of guided tours into Muggle London,” said Minerva, taking off her glasses to give them an unnecessary cleaning. “To promote understanding and tolerance.”

“Really? You think putting them on display will make Muggles appear human in the eyes of spoilt pure-blood offspring who have never seen the world outside their fourteen bedroom mansion?”

“Now, what is that supposed to mean, Severus?” said Minerva sharply, painfully reminded of the fact that this was exactly how her own daughter had grown up initially, before moving in with her father.

“I am merely drawing attention to the fact that, if you send a lot of wizard children into Muggle London, you’ll get the equivalent of a primary school zoo visit. This is not going to teach them any more respect for Muggles than the introduction of inadequately taught Muggle Studies lessons did thirty years ago.”

“We’ll see about that,” replied Minerva in mock cheerfulness. “But speaking of inadequately taught children, how is your therapy coming along?”

Severus appeared dissatisfied with this change of topic. “I don’t suppose you’ll consider replacing that blasted nurse, whatever my complaints?” he replied sourly. “I found the sleeves of my robes pulled earthwards the other day when Toke jumped up and down with delight after I managed to turn a porcupine into a pincushion and back again. He can be insufferable at times, you kn-”

“Mammal transfiguration!” Minerva exclaimed with a surge of delight, taking his hand and pressing it lightly. “Is that so? But that is wonderful news, Severus! Why haven’t you spoken of this before?”

“It is unimportant,” replied the young man, withdrawing his hand gently, though awkwardly. “I just wish my nurse were a little less… excitable.”

“These lessons –”

“Sessions,” said Severus quickly.

“Well, of course. These session are doing you a lot of good,” said Minerva warmly. “See, if you managed an actual pincushion, without a snout or whiskers, Toke will have taught you more than I ever have. I should consider offering him the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher next year.”

“Professor Worple won’t stay after all then?”

“Does it surprise you?”

“Hm,” made Severus. “I don’t suppose it should.”

“Well, nothing is certain yet,” said Minerva quietly. “Let’s call it for tonight. I should be able to finish these tomorrow. And we ought to think about sleeping arrangements tonight, what with all the refurbishing going on. Will you be using your new bedroom?”

“I have not been able to move all the furniture yet,” said Severus hesitantly. Minerva nodded.

“Well, it might not bet he worst choice to levitate some of the pieces after all. You have been stable for several weeks.”

Upon her mother’s request, the two teachers (or former teacher, in Severus’s case) and Minerva’s daughter Morgana had prepared one of the upstairs bedrooms for Severus to sleep in (and all this without magic, for reasons of Severus’s health), so that the guest rooms could be refurbished in time for an upcoming family event. Her mother did a lot of refurbishing, Minerva thought, considering that her actual job consisted in the organisation of societal events, which had a tendency to throw people’s lives off course. Oh, and speaking of which…

“Am I right guessing that you spoke to my mother the other night?” she enquired, taking great care not to sound too nosy. “I am asking because I just remembered Mawly looking for you wearing her ‘this is urgent’ expression and she only ever does that when acting on my mother’s explicit wishes.”

“That house-elf has been completely unreliable ever since she got pregnant,” said the Snape coldly. “What did she tell you?”

“Oh, nothing of consequence,” Minerva replied, looking worried. “But if you held conference with my mother, I should like to know what it is the two of you were discussing. I do admit that I feel a certain urge to… protect you of her scheming.”

Severus gave his colleage a long and thoughtful look.

“We didn’t speak much,” he then said. “She wanted information on Lucius’s background and I… obliged.”

Minerva stared. “Whatever would she want information on Malfoy for?”

“I suppose she has her reasons. Isn’t she involved in politics?”

“Not this kind,” mused Minerva. “But it might be that she is planning to strike him down. I shall have to let her know that I am making plans of my own…”

She had been reluctant to bring the subject up because it was a touchy one with Severus, but the date of the trials was approaching, of course, and things were going to be difficult without her having to playact under her own roof as well.

“I appreciate that you are in a very problematic position with regard to Lucius Malfoy, of course,” she therefore explained quickly. “You have to understand that I do not think Malfoy is any more guilty than any of the other former Death Eaters or sympathisers who are still running free these days, but I do believe he is a great deal more dangerous. Your friend is the perfect hybrid between my mother’s generation’s power and influence and your generation’s fanatically anti-Muggle mindset. If he succeeded in his endeavours of reinstating the old wizarding army… why, I cannot estimate what might happen.”

Into the ensuing silence, Severus spoke with a voice of great profundity.

“As promised,” he said, calmly and reasonably, “I will try and be of assistance to you in your endeavours, whatever the cost.”


	3. Morgana, Morgana, Morgana

**Cuthbert Binns: “…regarding your question on what I know about your family history.” In: Collected Letters – Part I**

_Years ago, when the twentieth century was still young and the wizarding world had not seen a blood feud in over two-hundred years, there lived a family of soldiers. They were well-known and highly respected among the pure-blood families on both, the English and the Scottish side. The head of the family, a general of a mere fifty years of age, had the most excellent connections to society’s most important members – those, who sanctioned family bonds, deliberated upon people’s acceptance into the most desirable circles of family branches, sets of close friends, or ally groups._

_Indeed, the general’s influence was so great that one day, he held conference with the central figure of British pure-blood society at the time, the most elevated and illustrious Vesta McPhail, who had then only recently become The Much Honoured Vesta McGillivray of the McGillivray Estate in the West Scottish territories. This person counts as the single most important connection point of all social affairs within the British wizarding world. To the present day, she is an extremely powerful social agent who holds more social strings and therefore social power in her hands than any dark wizard could by means of an open rebellion. But I am digressing._

_In their conversation, Lady Vesta McGillivray conveyed to the general her wish of creating a link between their two families through marriage of their firstborn children. The general begged the lady’s pardon and informed her of the fact that he had, in fact, already made arrangements for his older sons, but that his youngest, a boy of the name of Caelian, who happened to be exactly the lady’s only daughter’s age, would be available for marriage as soon as he reached the age of consent – which, at the time, was still set at twenty-one years._

_ Vesta McGillivray agreed on one condition. As opposed to the traditional pure-blood way of sealing such arrangements by means of an Unbreakable Vow, she reserved the right to postpone this vow until the day when her daughter and the general’s son came off age.  This, the general agreed to without hesitation, for it was clear that even the prospect of marrying into the lady’s line was worth the wait and the lack of a guaranty. _

_  
_

_~*~_

_  
_

Severus was woken by the opening and closing of his bedroom door early the next morning. As was habit with him these days, he made no attempt of getting hold of his wand, well aware that any inhabitant of the manor could out-duel him in a heartbeat due to his reduced magical capabilities at the present time. Instead, he lifted his head slightly, to see who had the audacity to enter without knocking, knowing the answer even before he set eyes on the mohawked intruder. His hands made an instinctive movement, pulling his blanket up under his chin.

“Morning Severus.”

“Get out!”

“Not a chance. I found something you’re going to love… Oh, are you still in bed? … All right, all right! No need to get aggressive! Listen, I found the solution to your little problem. In fact, I think if I tell you what it is, you might take back that thoughtless comment you made about my organisational skills last night…”

The situation constituted a severe moral conflict. Attempt a Stinging Hex despite the obvious likeliness of defeat, or accept a continuation of exposure to this post-pubescent nonsense?

“Get out this instant, you intractable, unruly teenager!”

“Impolite,” scowled the young woman. “I’m older than you. And cooler. Listen, I found a way for you to attend the trials!”

Once again, Severus’s body moved on its own accord, this time making him sit up straight with excitement, quite forgetting that Morgana had already seen more than he had ever intended for her to see.

“Whoa! Is that _a nightshirt_?”

“Get out! I shall not say it again. I’ll be up and dressed in five minutes, meeting you _outside_!”

“Fine,” said the witch with a shrug, not taking her eyes off the former Potions master’s skinny frame while marching backwards towards the door again. “If it’s _so_ important… but I’ll meet you in my uncle’s lab, because I’ll need soundproof walls and most of them are gone now that Grandma’s refurbishing the entire West Wing for the new year…”

“Yes, very well!” interrupted the Snape icily. “The laboratory, if we must, but I shall take ten minutes to complete some basic hygiene.”

“That’s a first,” mumbled the intruder and was out of the room before Severus could think of something to throw. No matter. He would get back on her soon enough. Whatever kind of solution she could have come across at this time of the day was completely beyond him, but even for Morgana, this kind of entrance was not everyday behaviour, so in all likeliness, there was some validity to her claim. What if she had indeed found a way for him to leave the premises unattended but safe?

Nine and a half minutes later, Hogwarts’s former Potions master opened the door of one Mr. McGillivray’s potions laboratory in the central part of the manor’s sizeable basement. He had never bothered asking the full name of the man, who so generously allowed him to use his vacant laboratory for his own purposes. For the last two months now, Severus had brewed and even invented potions in here, with the only restriction that the most potent ingredients had been moved out of his reach (and, in fact, out of the manor in total). Some of them, he was well aware, were still likely to send him back to the land of oblivion, where he had dwelled all too frequently in recent months, but particularly during the early stages of his predicament. His magic was coming back, however slowly, and he had been able to do some simple experiments with Dumbledore’s Pensieve already, even though he tended to keep quiet about the details in his frequent conversations with Minerva.

“Voilà,” said Morgana’s voice from the darkness when he closed the door behind himself, “your second home. Completely soundproof. Very convenient. Put on the torches, will you? I’d do it, but Mum says to use as little magic around you as possible…”

Severus obliged.

“I expect there is a profound reason for your spectacular intrusion into my privacy just now?” he said coldly. Morgana beamed at him as though they were the best of friends.

“Guess.”

“Since you already mentioned that you found a way for me to attend the trials,” replied Severus coldly, “I can only deduce that, in all likeliness, you found a way for me to attend the trials. Now all I am waiting for is to hear how you hope to accomplish this feat and what you expect to gain from it.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows.

“You think I’m not nice enough to help you just like that?” she said in mock offence. “Really, you should know me better by now…”

“Morgana!” A certain kind of impatience was impossible to hide.

“…out of the goodness of my heart…”

“The payment!”

“A strip dance would be nice, come to think of it…”

Patience! However inept she was likely to be with regard to general spellwork, the witch was in possession of a functional theurgic system while he was not.

“Something you can actually expect to receive!”

“What’s on offer?”

Severus breathed in slowly. This had been going on for weeks. Very much filling her role as the Head of Gryffindor’s only daughter, Morgana was possibly the least bearable human being he had met in a long time, with the possible exception of a certain infamous pure-blood line’s useless members. She was a curious kind of careless person, who knew nothing of the seriousness of life (typical for pure-bloods her age) and therefore had the audacity of using his momentary disadvantageous position against him, quite unlike any other member of this household, two thirds of whom Severus rarely saw or spoke to.

Unfortunately for him (and his ever boiling temper), he was a guest in this house, unable to stay away for very long without losing all his magic and possibly his life, and was therefore obliged to play along with her adolescent bantering – for the moment. On a more pleasant note, she tended to lose their verbal combats, even if, in ninety percent of cases, she did not seem to notice.

“I could brew you a psychedelic drug. Enhanced with a bit of dragon blood.”

“Something you can actually expect me to want!”

“Well, I don’t know! Something you can use during your nightly trips to Muggle London?”

Morgana beamed, looking rather too much like her mother for a second. Severus looked away quickly. Naturally, the woman noticed. (Or  _girl_ , to describe Morgana’s mental capacities more accurately. Despite her forty years of age, the witch’s thinking and behaviour adhered to the rules of pure-blood development, which meant that, in terms of Muggle or, in Severus’s case, half-blood years, she was, in fact, still in her late teens.)

“Is this your usual prudishness or did I just remind you of someone?” she asked innocently. Severus frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were blushing,” said Morgana with a snort of teenage-like laughter. “And don’t even think about pretending you don’t know what I am talking about. I’ve been watching you, you know. Mum and you, I mean.”

“I know,” said Severus coldly.

“Gave myself away, did I?”

“It was the staring mostly and the constant interrogations about highly intimate details. Now, I suggest you tell me your plans, or I might get the idea that you don’t actually have anything worth knowing, in which case I’ll retire to my quarters.”

Morgana gave him a long and quizzical look, pushing herself up on one of the desks near the window. Severus refrained from telling her exactly what he had been cutting on its surface only the day before.

“You will go,” she began, making a long and dramatic pause, “with Toke. He’ll look after you the entire time. Not let you out of his sight.”

“We already established that this would be an option,” Severus said icily, “were it not for the question of secrecy.”

“Easy,” said Morgana with a broad smile. “You will polyjuice into me.”

Severus stared.

“You cannot be serious,” he said slowly. “You cannot _actually_ think this is a plan that might work, despite the Ministry’s habit of shaking people down before allowing them to enter the premises these days – which I seem to remember we discussed at length a few days ago…?”

“Well, there is an advantage to knowing professional potions brewers,” said Morgana, looking strangely unworried. “And last night, one of them told me that, apparently, there has been some progress since you were last able to stick your nose into a magi-scientific magazine.”

“What progress?!”

“Well, it appears that that a good way to enhance Polyjuice Potion is to lengthen the time of duration, for instance,” explained Morgana knowledgeably. “Let me think… maybe just a dash of Erumpent’s urine…”

“You are talking about illegal substances,” Severus concluded wearily. “The non-Ministry approved kind that bears so much uncontrolled magic that one drop of it would kill me on the spot?”

Morgana grinned. Severus crossed his arms and leaned against the cold stone wall, which was tingling with the remnants of the incantation that made it soundproof. It made him supremely uncomfortable – not that he would put this on display for Morgana, of course, but as usual, when reminded of his fragile condition, the discomfort it involved hardened his features and caused him to apply some just-in-case-Occlumency – a superfluous habit from old times.

“It pains me to decline your gracious offer,” he said through clenched teeth, “but I’d prefer to live for another five or six decades rather than playing guinea pig for your friend’s little potions experiments.”

“He is not my friend,” hissed Morgana. “He is Mum’s uncle and he is a better potions brewer than you will ever be, _and_ I told him that I needed something, which even a fragile theurgic system could take, and guess what, he came up with a potion that will do the trick. Never mind that it isn’t Ministry approved. We can’t use their snooping around in our affairs anyway, now, can we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Any idiot can see that this potion would be detected within moments of me entering the Ministry building!”

“And how, may I ask?”

“Security spells, intruder-repellent security doors, spy spheres, Dementors, hundreds of Ministry workers…” Severus listed. Morgana interrupted him with some impatience.

“All defused! The ministers will be busy keeping the Death Eaters in check. Spy spheres were outlawed when Shacklebolt came into power, as were a certain kind of privacy-invading security doors. The Dementors are no longer part of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement – they were pulled out of Azkaban, too, by the way, only this morning – and any security spells are going to be useless against that potion. Believe me, Uncle Angus is a kick-ass potioneer! Why do you think he had so many dangerous ingredients in his laboratory? Why do you think he’s licensed for a level eight lab in the first place?”

Severus hesitated. He had seen some of Minerva’s uncle’s recipes and he had a hunch that this Mr. McGillivray was, in fact, quite an accomplished potions brewer. Come to think of it, was it not one “Angus McGillivray” who had written a number of books on mind-altering substances, which Severus had devoured in his youth (so to speak) when the topic had still been of some vague interest to the hormone-infested mind? Who said this plan could not work and was it not a risk worth taking for the desired prize of leaving his current prison at least for the duration of his best friend’s Death Eater trial?

“I shall consider it,” he said flatly. “But I’ll talk to this man in person.”

“Meaning what?” said Morgana. “Meaning you don’t trust me?”

“Meaning that I will give him the benefit of the doubt. Not you, him. I won’t take a potion that will likely kill me from _you_. Especially since we still don’t know if the trials are public or not and whether they are planning to send out personal invitations and if so, to whom.”

“Oh, but we do,” said Morgana smugly. “They are going by invitation, but guess what - being Vesta McGillivray’s granddaughter, I will be allowed to bring a guest, now, let’s say… my _boyfriend_.”

“Toke,” mumbled Severus, not bothering with sarcasm now. Morgana beamed.

“That’s right. Of course, Mum’s going to be there, so you are going to have to be extra convincing if you want to stay incognito. She knows me incredibly well. Plus, you’ll have to conceal the fact that you can’t do a lot of magic yet.”

“Not a problem,” said Severus automatically, not letting this one pass. “No one will likely even notice.”


	4. Diagon Alley

**Hamish McGillivray: “Blood Purity – The Delusion of A Family”**

**_Excerpt 3: from the Introduction of the 6 th edition from December, 1998_ **

_From a conservative’s point of view, a family branch will suffer a severe blow if one or more aspects of this branch’s social endeavours do not go according to plan. Even these days, far too much emphasis is based on whether or not wizarding children follow the path their parents have laid out for them or not. The commonly accepted method of forcing children into a career path or marriage, which they would rather not pursue, is one of the main sources of unhappiness among witches and wizards of our time. Indeed, it is one of the main reasons for each and every single wizarding war that took place since the beginning of the twentieth century, including the sudden increase in deaths among our own kind. The willingness to spill wizard blood can only come from a profound awareness that worldly items or goods, such as family status or possessions, are more important to one’s parents or guardians than one’s very own happiness. This is what the most recent wizarding war should teach us. This is why we have to forgive instead of seeking revenge. Though while we have to forgive, we also rediscover love and respect. We need to shed off the shackles of tradition, which have been driving us more and more towards the path of hatred and destruction. What we call “pure-blood pride” is no more than a disguised attempt to shield ourselves from this grievance._

#  ~*~

Diagon Alley was strangely empty, despite the time of the day and, one would think, the entire wizarding world’s awareness that today was the day of the last remaining Death Eaters’ trials.

Coming from the Severus followed Minerva and Toke across the street and into Robertson’s small branch office just across Flourish and Blott’s bookstore. They placed their broomsticks in one of the shelves next to the counter, drew a number, and handed it to the pale young man behind the counter. He was blonde and thin, almost like a Malfoy, but with less aristocracy plastered across his high forehead. Severus thought he was too old to be even Minerva’s ex-student, but you never knew. Forty years could do a lot to a person.

“We should be done by four thirty,” Minerva told him. “You won’t close until then, will you?”

“No, ma’am,” came a very prompt, very announcement-like answer. “We close at exactly six thirty post meridiem every Monday afternoon, or, in fact, any afternoon, except for Fridays, where we close at five, except that I have to be around until seven to clear up the – never mind, I’m sure you have lots of things to do.”

Minerva was already half outside and turned with what Severus thought was a reluctant and polite smile.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Robertson,” she said, “we do. But I hope to be back fairly early. There should be enough time to learn all about your working schedule then.”

The man nodded and both, Severus and Minerva, felt compelled to smile at him in an encouraging fashion. Sometimes, being a teacher left you with a rather disgusting kind of instinct. Severus frowned and turned to Toke, who was staring at the window display of the shop across the street, as always potentially unaware of what was going on around him.

“Practical,” remarked Minerva when they had left, without looking back. “The number of times I had to take my broom on a shopping tour to Madame Malkin’s or Florean Fortescue’s… this establishment really is one of a kind.”

Severus nodded mutely.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” enquired Minerva lightly. “You are not very talkative today.” They were passing Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes now. Severus watched his own mirror image in the junk-filled window – black-haired, as usual, but otherwise completely changed. Luckily, Morgana refrained from wearing her stupid Mohawk when her grandmother was involved, but her choice of clothing was bad enough. Combined with the unmistakable similarity to her mother on account of a pair of square glasses and something which had caused Severus to call her Little Miss McUnibrow countless times, he realised he felt like a complete idiot seeing his image reflected among dung bombs and instant darkness powder. “Are you worried about something?”

Severus hastened to assure her that he was not.

“Well, knowing you, you might have friends among those convicted today. Merlin knows, I am glad Severus could not come along. I would not have wished him to witness his former best friend’s trial.

“Lucius Malfoy’s?”

“Who else? Severus does not have very many friends, all in all. I am very glad you introduced him to Uncle Angus, by the way. It was the best idea you’ve had with regard to his well-being so far. I never even knew how obsessed he was with Angus’s books. He really is a bit of a fan.”

Severus pursed his lips. “Is that so?”

“You wouldn’t believe just how much. I’d be surprised if he didn’t try and get Angus to sign all those Potions books he brought from Spinner’s End. It is almost adorable.”

“You sound condescending,” Severus observed, through grit teeth. Toke gave him what Severus hoped was an understanding smile (rather than a sadistic one) when Minerva was not looking.

“Oh, but I’m not!” Now, it was the deputy headmistress’s turn to blush. “On the contrary. I am just… I am… happy for him. You know how I feel about Severus, Morgana. It is hard to keep these impressions at bay sometimes. This is one of the main reasons why I didn’t want him to attend the trials. I could not bear to see him suffer…Although I have to say that, fortunately, these trials are a lot more humane than they used to be. Can you imagine the whole Wizengamot gathering and the convicts being brought in from Azkaban by Dementors? Thank Merlin Kingsley got rid of them now. Then again, I sometimes think the prisoners are hardly better off being guarded by a heap of malevolent soldiers. They can be ever so cruel. Goodness, you look pale, is there anything wrong?”

“I was just thinking,” replied Severus cautiously, “that nothing can be worse than being guarded by Dementors day and night.”

“Well, I suppose,” said Minerva and then, for a while, nothing. Severus walked past her down the street, looking in this window and that, trying to seem as outgoing and good-natured as possible. It was a hard feat. As before, Toke followed his every step, a note of vague concern edged on his usually so cheerful face (since, naturally, they had let the nurse in on the game – emergency action tended to be so much quicker when the emergency helper knew what he was dealing with).

When they reached the Leaky Cauldron, Minerva stopped, reached into the pockets of her robes, and pulled out her wand in order to open the barrier into the Muggle world. Severus watched her, not without unease. So far, their trip had been eventless. Toke had had a very close eye on his former teacher’s health, but it turned out that Severus’s progress during the last weeks had been surprisingly great. While his outward magical powers were limited to simple levitation and decorative charms, his inner strength seemed to have doubled, if not tripled during this short period of time. This was primarily noticeable, of course, through the return of his powers regarding mind-magic. Occlumency had worked from the day of the Pensieve accident onwards (an overall rather interesting day, involving all kinds of unexpected closeness) and Legilimency, well… there was still time. In summary, this meant that the number of collapses on the ground of someone else performing magic in Severus’s close reach had gone down to zero. Both, Severus and Toke had grown so confident in the former Potions master’s resilience that they had decided to take the risk of Minerva taking the more magic-laden route via Diagon Alley on her way to the Ministry – which, of course, she had. She loved flying, as did Morgana. There was no reason not to use this occasion to do some exercise. Quidditch players (or former ones, in Minerva’s case)… you had to hate them.

“Your grandmother is going to meet us in the courtroom,” Minerva informed her supposed daughter now. “Let’s see if she and Lady Warrington-Selwyn find a way to end their trip to Meta-Camden in tim– what on earth are you grinning at?”

Severus dropped what he had thought would be a Morgana-appropriate reaction at an instant. “Sorry.”

“If you think you must go on mother’s nerves,” said Minerva sternly, “please do so after the trial, or she might decide to send the two of you home before they even get started. That should be rather embarrassing. And I do believe Mr. Toke would enjoy the trials, would you not, Mr. Toke?”

“Ah, Livius…” said Toke in his smallest voice, reminding the deputy headmistress of the fact that they had been on first name terms for a few days now. Minerva missed the hint.

“I’ll do my damn best,” said Severus quickly, with concentration. “Boy, am I excited.”

Later, when they had reached the Ministry without major complications (Minerva had had to silence Toke a few times, who tried to engage in a conversation every time someone in earshot pulled out a mobile phone and started talking) both professors and their former student fell into a solemn silence. Having left the phone box behind them, everything underground spoke of the new direction in which the new Ministry intended to go after the catastrophic results of their former policies – and of their lack of success so far.

In the middle of the great Entrance Hall, the golden statue on the obligatory fountain had been replaced by a few coloured blocks and a brass plate saying that this was “Arsenius Tickle’s last notable piece of work before his death in the war of 1945”. Severus noticed a general increase of interest in pre-war artists in the portraits along the lengthy corridors, too, as he and Toke were following Minerva in the direction of the Department of Mystery’s courtroom. As always, the trials were held in strict secrecy, as always, the culprits were treated as traitors to the wizarding world and wizarding morality as a whole, not without justification, perhaps.

Severus was glad to find the massive stone-walled room completely Dementor-free. Just for a second, the memory of his own trial threatened to creep to the surface of his subconscious. The trained Occlumens blocked it instinctively, banishing all thought from his mind just for a few seconds while they were sitting down in the front row, next to a very distinguished-looking lady with dark blonde hair, who was busy tipping her neck with a small, frilly napkin and complaining about the heat. Minerva greeted her with a nod.

“Lady Warrington-Selwyn.”

“Young Mistress McGillivray,” was the curt reply. “A pleasure.”

“How do you do,” said Minerva politely and then, because she knew he would appreciate it, “you remember Livius Toke, I trust…”

“Rather,” said the lady without looking at the pale nurse. “Your mother is outside argueing with the newly elected Minister I believe. At least that was her intent and purpose when she left me here, all by myself, in this unbearable heat. – And what are you scowling at, young lady?”

Once again, Severus felt like cursing the ease with which Morgana’s face moved to display its bearer’s feelings.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his mind racing, trying to figure out how Morgana would address her grandmother’s best friend, “my…lady.”

Lady Warrington-Selwyn raised one eyebrow in surprise, but then curled her richly painted mouth into a miniscule smile and turned to Toke.

“I like to think of our latest conversation,” she told him. The look on both, Toke’s and Minerva’s face told Severus that this was highly unusual, as well as a very positive experience for the young man, who blushed and hurried to assure the lady that their encounter had been most inspiring for him as well. For a moment, Severus considered hissing “bootlicker” under his breath, but then remembered that Toke was at liberty to blow his cover any minute and traded entertainment for safety.

“I shall hope to see you at my post-spring-cleaning dinner at the end of March then,” said the lady now, making even Severus’s jaw drop. A quick exchange of glances with Toke told him that the nurse, too, realised the social impact of this invitation. If it had not been at this precise moment that several people entered the room (Minerva’s mother among them) calling for an official opening of the trials, Severus thought Toke might have jumped up and done a little jig dance. In a way, he felt bereft.

A man named Ignatius Mulciber opened the trial. He seemed very young to be filling a judge’s position, but Severus supposed that he was merely a stand-in until the Ministry had fully sorted out all its staffing problems. Fact remained that the Battle of Hogwarts had cost the lives of dozens of witches and wizards so that the population of magically-capable adults had shrunk by a considerable percentage. Ironically, among the most powerful people least involved in this most recent fight were veterans from the old wizarding army and their families, who mostly lived in the old colonial areas and in other remote places around the globe, returning only for regular family gatherings or other special occasions, such as this one. Ignatius Mulciber was not a broad man, but heavily packed with the kind of muscle you gained when working out for a living. Severus guessed that he had once held officer status, but even if he had been a major or even a colonel, the former Potions master realised, this fact alone did not qualify Mulciber for a job as a servant of the law. Quite the contrary, in fact, seeing as his impartiality was not given.

In Minerva’s face, he read his own thoughts mirrored exactly. These trials were going to be one big family feast, just as they had always been. One person of influence would protect another person of influence’s offspring or protegee. It was all quite predictable.

Severus leaned back in his place and crossed his arms, trying not to smirk. This promised to be more relaxing than expected. For a moment, he even wondered, whether Lucius would be accused in the first place.

 


	5. Ice Cream and Politics

**Percey Weasley to the acting Head of the Auror Department, Terenthia Toke: Informal report of the proceedings during the last remaining set of Death Eater trials**

_Dear Madam,_

_You will be pleased to hear that we have finally completed the last of all necessary trials related to last year's reign of terror and its participants. All those who were directly involved and in contact with the Dark Lord have now been tried, so that we will be in a position to elect the new cabinet within two or three weeks. Word is, of course, that most positions will remain as they are now, with the possible exception of the acting head of the Wizengamot, General Ignatius Mulciber, who is considered too young to fill the post on a permanent basis and who would rather return to his outpost in Siberia anyway._

_In the course of these last trials, the only real surprise that presented itself was when the Minister's chief adviser, Lucius Malfoy, was put under the influence of Veritaserum and confessed to a number of crimes, some quite a bit more atrocious than one might expect from someone of his age and standing. (You will kindly remember that, although Veritaserum is now an accepted means to examine a person's degree of guilt, it can never be used as the sole indicator, due to its limited reliability. This, of course, gives some members of the Wizengamot reason to doubt the degree of truth in Malfoy's confessions, but there we are. Therein lies the problem with today's jurisdiction, of course.)_

_Malfoy was sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. Nobody is sure, as yet, whether this punishment is, in fact, sufficiently harsh, seeing as all the Dementors were withdrawn earlier this year, but Mulciber's decision met little opposition nevertheless._

_As you will realise, this means we have our first lifetime sentence within the older pureblood families. I am sure some people will disapprove and possibly try to effect some post-trial changes. Let us hope they do not succeed._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Percey Weasley._

__

* * *

~*~  


 

Within an hour and a half, the little family, including Severus, left the Ministry building in the company of Lady Warrington-Selwyn and headed towards the passageway behind the Leaky Cauldron once more. Minerva's mother and her friend were still disinclined to use the floo network ('So filthy…') or broomsticks ('Too cold…') for the ride, but they had agreed to a cup of cream coffee and some waffles at Florean Fortescue's, who adapted to the weather with a wide range of alternatives to ice cream these days.

Having been carefully instructed for this exact occasion, Severus sighed dolefully at his companions' steaming mugs of cream coffee (or tea, in Lady McGillivray's case) while shoving big spoonfuls of frozen sugar into Morgana's never-silent mouth.

"Is your ice cream enjoyable, dear?" asked Minerva conversationally. Severus shot her an imaginary death glare and swallowed hard.

"Very."

"Isn't it a bit cold for ice cream still?" sniffed Lady Warrington-Selwyn. She often sniffed while speaking. It was her way of sounding distinguished.

"Nah, rubbish," said Severus glumly, displaying a wide grin. "I'll have ice cream in six feet of snow if it's tasty. And this one is, believe you me. Hmmm, peppermint."

Toke gave a stifled snort of laughter and quickly hid his face behind his cup. Minerva and her mother exchanged a brief glance, but seemed to decide that Morgana was simply having a bad day. Severus realised that he was not making a very good job of his disguise, but the trials had cost him a lot of energy he found and, against reason, he felt that the game was no longer as worthy of his effort as it had been before. Luckily, the ladies had other concerns and Minerva, too, had her attention drawn away from her daughter by the pressing need to discuss her recent victory…

"Personally," said Lady Warrington-Selwyn before anyone else could addresse the topic, "I admire Malfoy's audacity. Just imagine being accused in front of the entire Wizengamot and still not admitting your crimes until they shove Veritaserum down your throat."

"Yes," replied Lady McGillivray sourly. "That was unexpected. And imagine the impulse coming from my own daughter."

Severus side-glanced at Minerva, whose expression was one of triumph, very similar to the way she had looked when Ignatius Mulciber had led Lucius Malfoy to be questioned by the court. A small suggestion, a simple vote, was all it had taken. Severus still could not believe that Mulciber had actually joined in the game.

"And then," Lady Warrington-Selwyn remembered with an absent smile, "who would have thought! Who would have believed him capable of such atrocious crimes…"

…Some of which had been new even to Severus. So much so that he had begun to question the quality of the Veritaserum…

"I agree that none of us, perhaps, was actually expecting to see Malfoy behind bars," said Minerva quietly. "And it is a relief, I must say."

"Not to everyone," said her mother stiffly. "Some of us, Minerva, appreciate enemies in well-known places, performing their well-known little schemes. It appears to be utterly unbeneficial for the well-being of society to have a complete stranger perform Malfoy's duties from now on."

"Have they decided on who will be taking his place yet?" her friend enquired. Vesta McGillivray laughed mirthlessly.

"No, thank Merlin. The Ministry is one big pile of chaos these days. I could not even speak with the Minister after the trial. It is a disgrace, but not a disaster. I shall have the opportunity in due course, and…"

"Mother, please tell me you don't intend to do anything about Malfoy's sentence!"

Severus forgot his ice-cream camouflage for a moment and looked up.

"Why, 'do' is such a strong word. One can only discuss matters, of course."

"'One' cannot discuss anything now that the trial is over!" said Minerva harshly. Severus noticed angry, red spots appearing on the deputy headmistress's face, the likes of which indicated that she was, well, emotionally involved. "'One' cannot just ignore Malfoy's war crimes just because 'one' happens to have a place for him in 'one's' social schemes. Mother, you are not  _this_ much above the law!"

Severus continued to watch the scene with interest, completely forgetting his food. This was new. Unexpected, admittedly, but interesting neverthess – or because of it. He watched Vesta McGillivray's face displaying a miniscule smile of satisfaction and – was it smugness? She was so hard to read. He suddenly realised that, however much he had seen the witch as "just" Morgana's grandmother or Minerva's mother before, just as another parent who liked to make marriage arrangements, Minerva did think that there was an actual possibility of her mother 'discussing' Lucius out of prison.

The argument was interrupted by the ever diplomatic Toke.

"I take it neither of you is actually very satisfied with the outcome of this last trial then?" he enquired with an innocently curious look on his podgy face. (Severus thought he might have puked.) The ladies turned their sour attention to the nurse.

"Neither of the trials was quite as satisfying as I had expected," stated Lady Warrington-Selwyn after a moment's consideration. "Last time, I thought the conviction process was a lot more, well, considerate of social requirements."

"Well, no wonder," said Minerva darkly, "many people got off very lightly at the time. After the last war, the children of the most influential families automatically got a reprieve while others were sent to prison or subjected to the Dementor's Kiss, with the possible exception of Severus, who was already working for Albus Dumbledore at the time. If you were a Malfoy or a Macnair – or, indeed, a Black, you needed to be a mass murderer to find yourself locked in at all."

"They did convict Dolpho and Bella Lestrange," said Vesta into her cup. Severus took great care to keep Morgana's face impassive at this particular point. Minerva slammed her hand on the table, looking furious.

"Which was a  _good_ decision, mother! It was also several years after You-Know-Who's downfall. Their deed had nothing to do with the war. Not strictly speaking anyway, it was an act of lunacy."

"More than anything," Vesta McGillivray agreed, pointedly ignoring her daughter's gaze. "It is a sad affair. I can tell you that the Lestrange family suffered a severe blow to their reputation for this. Dolpho has a cousin, too, by the way," she then said to Lady Warrington-Selwyn, "He is in some societal trouble, though for more private reasons. Apparently, he 'refuses' to marry a pure-blood."

"Why is that?" asked her friend.

"A question of love, apparently," said Vesta thinly. "I was forced to do some research on the matter a short while ago. Apparently, he married in Europe and refuses to re-marry someone more suitable under British wizarding law."

"Gee, I wonder why," said Severus darkly finding himself very much in-character while expressing his exact thoughts for a change. Minerva shot him a warning look.

"Marriage in a society such as ours cannot be dictated by love, Morgana dear," said Lady McGillivray sternly. "I have told you often enough that, if everyone just married their chosen partners, we would die out within a century."

"How so?" enquired Severus, unable to stop himself.

"You need to listen more closely to my elaborations," tutted the old witch, leaning forward a little. "Muggles," she said slowly, reasonably, "live up to only about ninety years of age, as a rule. If you have magic, you'll live longer and the more people in your family have magic, the longer you will live – up to two hundred years and more in some cases. Although I hear Madame Marchbanks has been feeling a little off-colour lately. But her family isn't entirely pure either, of course, so…"

"Which  _proves_  that -"

"Do not interrupt me, Minerva," said Vesta McGillivray sharply. "The point is that if we start marrying for love, we'll end up marrying Muggles. And if we marry Muggles, our average life span will go down several decades. Do you want that?"

Severus hesitated. "I don't… think I care much," he ventured. Minerva flicked him a smile while her mother sucked in some air, sat up straight in her chair and formed a a little upside-down "v" with the tips of her fingers.

"Very unreasonable," remarked Lady Warrington-Selwyn unnecessarily. Severus wondered if she was trying to push her friend over the top.

Luckily, at this precise moment, the small group were joined by two men in silk robes, one of whom was short and stocky, the other of whom was taller and thin and very blond. Severus recognised only the former.

"I hope we don't intrude," said the shorter man politely. "We just felt like a hot cup of tea and were delighted to see you here as well – Merlin's beard, is that ice cream?"

"Specially made," said Severus darkly, his mouth full. "No one else seems inclined to have any at this time of the year. I wonder why."

"Yes, I wonder, "said the man, kissing first Vesta McGillivray's hand and then Lady Warrington-Selwyn's. Minerva was next and then the veteran turned to Severus, who made to shake hands, but quickly pulled back upon realising the other man's true intentions.

"Morgana!" both ladies promptly admonished and Minerva took her face out of her hands, wondering what was going on.

"No-not so much for the kissing," Severus wildly invented.

"Behave yourself!" Vesta McGillivray prompted without a moment's delay.

And then, suddenly, everything seemed to halt in mid-movement. The retort that had lingered on Severus's tongue was gone, the thought forgotten, for Minerva took his hand into her own, enclosing it almost fully, and gave him her warmest smile of support. Without even realising he had moved a muscle, Severus felt Morgana's face change into a huge, satisfied grin. It was a good feeling, though somewhat unfamiliar.

"Draw the gentlemen a chair, will you, Morgana?" said Vesta McGillivray now, sounding a little crisp, and then, when Severus did not react, "Morgana,  _dear_?"

Severus flinched and turned. He had a strange sensation of dejà-vu and then hurried to take out his wand. "Of… of course."

He did make a fool of Morgana, taking two attempts before the two chairs appeared along the line where he traced them into the air, but the situation was saved. And he was still conscious, as Toke recognised with an almost imperceptible nod after the challenge had been met. Both men were uncomfortably aware that a possible impact of this kind of summoning magic performed right next to Severus might have had worse consequences. The former Potions master heard Toke heave a breath of relief and pocketed his wand again, not without satisfaction.

"Please sit down, General Mulciber," said Vesta McGillivray now, a miniscule smile playing around her ageing lips.

"Yes, please do," her friend joined in. Both women looked extremely concentrated and business-like all of a sudden.

"We ought to discuss the outcome of the trial a little."


	6. Positioning

**Cuthbert Binns: "…regarding your question on what I know about your family history." In: _Collected Letters_ – Part II**

_I was lucky enough to teach both, young Minerva McGillivray and the general's youngest son. In fact, I taught all of them, but the youngest was the most aggressive, I have to say, very much living up to the two most recognisable family traits: arrogance, paired with little ability for reflection, and irascibility. This seems to be the reason why, after two years of awkward companionship, Miss McGillivray decided that it was time for them to go their separate ways. The boy's father did not take this lightly, I can tell you. A very hot-tempered man he was. As I say, this was one of the main discrediting factors for the family reputation and the reputation of the wizarding army as a whole. Whoever made this man field marshal and thus the single-handed governor of the wizarding world's only executive force, I cannot begin to imagine. He is a complete lunatic, obsessed with the renewed invasion of the old colonial territories, infatuated with power to an unnatural degree… a little like the Most Honourable Vesta McGillivray, perhaps, but not quite as charmingly, and, I have to say, not quite as successfully either._

_For once, however, wizarding politics worked very effectively and the wizarding army was stripped off its powers in the late 1970s. It is interesting to note, however, that, up to the present day, this general – the later field marshal – was not officially discharged. On paper, we still have a wizarding army and you will not be surprised to hear that there have been efforts to bring it back in order to reinstall order and safety among wizardkind. Personally, I am not entirely opposed. I do think the army used to keep our young men in check and I do agree with those who say that, if all these young men who became Dark Wizards and "Death Eaters" in the course of the last two wars, had had a military past, they would have known to tell right from wrong. Who knows, the war might not have happened at all, had the wizarding army never been disestablished._

__

 

~*~

 

Later, when Severus was in the air again, flying as close to Toke as possible (because, let's face it, he had never been good with brooms, let alone under the current circumstances, and he happened to know that the boy had performed rescue-dives for one of his fellow students more than once, during Flying lessons), this being the lesser of two evils, it was hard to read Minerva's reaction to the conversation with Mulciber. She seemed angry, but also unusually quiet now that the day was over and they could finally go home. The little group at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had discussed Lucius Malfoy's trial at great length, and it had become clear to Severus that Minerva's mother, while sharing her daughter's distaste for the man, agreed with some of his actions concerning the reinstatement of the old wizarding army. It had also become painfully clear that she would have liked to see her granddaughter Morgana married off to poor Ignatius Mulciber very much indeed. (For what reason she wanted to subject the man to this torture was completely beyond the Snape.) It was something to remember, though. He was very sure that he would not forget to mention this in his recount to Morgana once they had safely returned to the family home, where he could finally take the antidote to Minerva's uncle's long-lasting Polyjuice-like potion. (He had seen better pieces of work, incidentally.) Lengthening the span of one hour, which Polyjuice manufacturers usually guaranteed you in the shape of the other person, was near impossible, of course. Severus still thought he would have made a better job of it.

When they were in the Glasgow region, Minerva joined her two travel companions, having flown several feet before them up until now. The elegance with which she handled her broomstick reminded Severus of the fact that she had once, for a short period of time, been a professional Quidditch player (as Morgana had told him over a cup of liquorice tea several weeks ago). She seemed to find it very easy to fly fairly close to them without drifting off every now and then in order to remain in talking distance, despite their current speed. And while his own skills were rather limited in this particular field, Severus found he was making a very good job of it, considering that the last time he had sat specifically on a broomstick (not counting the broom-less flying, which the Dark Lord's overflow over magical energy had made possible at the height of his reign) had been to referee a Hogwarts Quidditch match several years before.

"Listen, Morgana," said Minerva loudly when she was close enough, "there is something I have to ask of you."

Severus gripped the handle of his broom a little tighter and nodded, while Toke decided to drop back a little, giving the two some privacy.

"You realise what has just happened, don't you?" said the black-haired witch through the wind and the rain. "Mother practically talked Mulciber into giving Malfoy a reprieve."

"Is that Mulciber's call alone then?" Severus wondered.

"Not exclusively," replied his friend. "Which is why I am not worried – yet. But I shall have to take a weekend trip to M'bwa in Africa. And… well, here is my request: I am a little worried because I will have to be away on the only February weekend where my Hogwarts schedule would have permitted me to return home."

"And?" said Severus, a little puzzled.

"Well," said Minerva with difficulty, "I want you to look after Severus during this prolonged absence of mine. He –"

"I don't think so!"

Minerva blinked, awkwardly pushing some strands of hair out of her face. "I'm sorry? Morgana?"

Severus back-pedalled. "Mi- Moth- Mum," he said, "I can't… I won't… Severus and I don't work very well," he then managed. "If you give me this kind of power over him…"

"No one is talking about power," said Minerva quietly. "I want you to see to it that mother doesn't expose him to her friends for some foolish reason by luring him to one of her dinner parties, for instance. I want you and Toke to stay in close contact and observe Severus's health, because I do think that, while he is getting stronger, he has a tendency to overexert himself. I also need you to remind your grandfather of the imminent time-turner maintenance, which must, of course, happen while I am away. We'll need two healers and Mr. Toke, during those two hours when the time-turner is off, to ensure that Severus remains stable during that time. – Can I rely on you not to forget these things?"

"Of course," replied Severus awkwardly. Minerva gave him a smile of relief.

"I am glad," she said softly, her voice getting almost too quiet to hear over the wind. "You are starting to take responsibility for the people around you, Morgana. That is a sign of growing up, you know. And I trust Severus will be in good hands with you. He, that is to say, his well-being is," she hesitated, just for a second, "extremely important to me. Do you understand that?"

Severus blinked and swallowed. He suddenly felt as though the ice cream of three hours ago was now creeping into his blood circulation, causing tiny goose bumps to spread all over his fur-coated body.

"I… believe so," he said and then, because he had been looking for a way to say this all evening, "I think he would like you to discuss the trials with him. Let him know the details and such."

Minerva gave him an incredulous look. "You think?" she said, making him realise that he had just practically given his camouflage away. Morgana and concern for others? Probably a rare occurrence, from what he knew about her. With a sigh, he resolved to play his role well for the rest of the journey.

"You know," he said, feeling dumb as he grinned, "what with him being practically a Muggle now, he'll like to hear that some of his friends at least are better off these days."

This worked. They reached McGillivray manor without another word and Severus could hurry off to the laboratory before having to make another one of Morgana's foolish jokes.

Later that evening, Severus was sitting on his bed, tracing his left arm with his index finger where the Dark Mark had once been, thinking that, for aesthetical reasons, it really was a shame that it was gone. Everyone else, too, had gone to bed by now, though Morgana had protested that she would like some more time in Severus's body to explore the countless possibilities in Polyjuice gay bars somewhere around wizarding London. He had not permitted this, sure that he did not care just how 'successful' he might have been with 'the lads'. The antidote to the refined Polyjuice Potion (lovingly called 'Polydote' by Morgana) had put an end to the whole story. At the end of the day, Severus had to admit that McGillivray really was a genius – hardly any invention Severus had encountered in the last decade or so had seemed so useful as the longer time-span of the Polyjuice Potion. Simple, but effective. Despite his admiration for the man and his literary works, Severus noticed a pang of jealousy, the likes of which he did not usually experience on account of the fact that Potions, all in all, had never felt quite as important as other subjects to him – or as the going-ons around Dumbledore and the Death Eaters, of course. Now that the political situation was so much easier than it had been, trivial matters gained an undue degree of personal significance. It was a fascinating process to watch.

All in all, Severus thought, he was a man of politics and social scheming. Today's events had clearly reminded him of it. Vesta McGillivray's interest in him continued to grow – the lady had predicted that Severus would get very far with his opportunism and Severus agreed with the former, while reserving judgement on the latter. He was intent on 'getting far'. At some point, he knew, he would be able to leave the manor again, unprotected, and for longer periods of time. At some point, he would regain enough magical power to blast any opponent off their feet once more. And then, at that very moment, having established a good relationship with one of wizarding society's most powerful figures was certain to come in extremely useful.

He had been in similar positions before, of course. Not without unease now, Severus remembered his way of cheating himself into pure-blood gatherings at school and outside through inventing a link to a wizarding line, which, by a stroke of good fortune, bore the name of Snape. (Death Eaters had a patrilineal way of thinking which no Prince connection could make up for, unfortunately.) Completely coincidentally, Minerva had, some time ago, mentioned the name of a former general to him, who had lived in the African jungle for decades now, with no one being sure if he was actually alive or not. This was the very person, Severus had, at age 17, presented to his friends as his "father" for the purpose of conversations where people would have become very dangerous, had he let them in on his true blood status. That no one had seen or talked to this man for decades had seemed like an added bonus. Not even pictures had been around for Severus to double-check the question of family likeness. He had relied on his Prince blood, then, as well as the everlasting problem of wizarding incest – and got through with it. Admittedly, at the time, there had not been many pureblood gatherings in the first place. Not like today.

Now, of course, the blasted man turned out to be alive and well. Minerva would travel to Africa, refreshing old bonds, in order to establish the conditions of basic military training as a form of a Hogwarts summer school, with the soldier potentially reappearing as a figure in British wizarding politics. Which, of course, was bound to raise many questions if the conversation turned to "his son Severus" of whom, at this point in time, he was as yet unaware.

Severus needed to establish his position in pure-blood society. Dead or not, the question of his blood status became more pressing by the minute as Vesta McGillivray was employing him as her personal informant. She could use his skills, but in the long run, he would have to see to it that she could also associate with him officially if he wanted some security, particularly regarding some of his former Death Eater acquaintances.

Lost in thoughts, Severus took out his wand and practiced some transfiguration on a handful of sawdust in the corner of the room's only window, turning it into flies. The insects seemed confused at first, but then began buzzing and bumping against the window glass, just as real flies did in summer. Their creator watched them absently for a while and then passed on to practising his aiming by shooting them off one by one. It was an old habit. He was very good at it.

Two things needed to be done. One, he needed to make himself indispensable to both, Vesta McGillivray and the society in which she so successfully pulled her strings – preferably without alienating his best friend Minerva, who did not see eye to eye with her mother regarding an annoying amount of things. Two, his position needed to remain ambiguous in terms of political directive. It was the one way to stay politically on top no matter what happened to society as a whole.

And then, of course, there was another question to be answered, which had been resting heavily on his mind for months now, but increasingly in recent weeks…

With a small flick of his wand and a whispered spell, Severus produced yet the most powerful result of his training with Toke. A feeble Patronus appeared in the middle of the room, looked around searchingly through a pair of misty eyes, which was framed by a dark silver pattern not unlike a pair of square glasses… and then turned to him, realising that it had not been summoned to fend off a Dementor and therefore waiting for a message to deliver.

"No message," whispered the Snape into the total silence. "Just the question of what on earth you think you're doing taking her shape."

The cat lowered her head and licked her paw. Then, she trudged over to her owner and rubbed her cheek on his leg. Severus made an attempt to stroke the Patronus, passing his hand through strands of silvery, cold mist as he did.

He never saw the tabby on the window still outside, unmoving and observant.


	7. The Lawn Incident

**BWA Owl Service on Tuesday, 2nd**   **March, 1999**

**From: Gen. Caelian Lance Snape of Mbwa Camp, Uele Isle, Northern Territories**

**To: Field-Marshal Brutus Snape of Central Camp, Djoumboul Line, South Africa**

_Dear sir,_

_The resettlement of the Southern area is now approaching its final stage. Our men have re-built the old residences and are now taking their former posts along the Uele line and the Mbomou border, respectively. The camp is back in shape, as far as the condition of the material and the spells is concerned. The land and its people, of course, have undergone massive changes during the last three decades. The inhabitants have now taken up our segregation of Muggle and Wizarding Societies, as a result of which we lost four of the old stationary posts, since they are situated on Muggle territory now._

_As ordered, we are strictly keeping out of all Muggle warfare. As everywhere in this part of the continent, our wizarding soldiers fight stray rebel groups of witches and wizards, however, who attempt to enforce a return to the old ways of non-segregation. We shall have to seek them out individually._

_Other than that, we are now concentrating mainly on the recruitment of new soldiers. I shall meet with the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts tonight to discuss the reintroduction of military basic training for those, who have successfully completed their O.W.L.s. As a matter of fact, I am quite looking forward to this meeting for personal reasons._

_With respect and regards,_

_Gen. C. L. Snape._

 

~*~

 

The next time Severus saw Minerva, she looked tired and somehow older than usual. Her hair was not tied into a low bun for a change, but stuffed entirely under a grey travelling hat, which was too small for her, and which she presumably kept for nostalgic reasons.

Severus's last month had been quite draining, too. Morgana had kept "her" promise to her mother and had not let Severus out of her sight very often, except during therapy sessions with Toke, which she had attended, but with her full concentration on the young nurse instead of Severus. (And what a relief it had been.) Now that they were approaching human transfiguration, Severus found his attendant edging towards corners whenever it was time for Severus to cast a spell. The satisfaction gained from this was considerable, but somehow time dragged past whenever Minerva was out of the house, and against his expectations Severus found that a month without her company was quite hard to endure.

Morgana's constant ideas kept him busy, of course. Her latest fad were little "orphaned eggs", as she liked to call them, which she made a sport of spotting from up in the air during her flying practice above the Forbidden Forest, and then brought home because "oh my goodness, just imagine if the parents didn't come back". The trouble, of course, was that, what with Morgana's insufficient knowledge of everything to do with Potions or Magical Creatures, the young woman had managed to almost incinerate the entire West Wing by allowing an Ashwinder egg to hatch on the little table next to the living-room fireplace. Luckily, Vesta McGillivray had been quick-witted enough to choose a summoning spell in order to obtain great amounts of water from the nearby loch instead of attempting a freezing charm in Severus's close reach. She really did seem to care whether he lived or died. He regarded this as his biggest social step so far.

Other than during this significant occurrence, however, the lady had been quite a handful. During one noteworthy encounter, Vesta McGillivray had hinted that she had an good idea of who had actually attended Lucius Malfoy's trial instead of her granddaughter and he found himself lying awake at night trying to figure out whether or not she actually knew of his little detour. Chiefly, of course, the question of Legilimency skills needed to be thought through. Was it really such an odd branch of magic as Dumbledore had always thought? Was it really as exclusive to him, Severus, and the Dark Lord as the three of them had always presumed? And why should not a person to whom society assigned the position of a housewife find the time and perseverance to pursue this highly time-consuming activity of practising Legilimency?

When Minerva returned from her short trip to Africa (she had chosen to go by Portkey in spite of the fact that a few direct floo links had been established for the purpose of resuming contact with the army veterans in the outer regions) Severus went outside to greet her, having spent the last two hours or so gazing through the East Wing's kitchen window onto the lawn and the front porch outside for no particular reason.

When she was an arm's length away, he stopped. The deputy headmistress followed his lead and gave him a tired smile. She took his hand, which was a little clammy (from having sat still for so long, no doubt) into her own, equally cold ones.

"I am glad to see you are well," she said politely.

Severus nodded. "You too."

"A little tired from travelling. I had to visit Africa rather more often than I expected," said the deputy headmistress with a faint smile, allowing him to take her travelling bag. "How did you know I was arriving?"

"You said you'd be back today," Severus replied non-committally. "I expect it is a logical time to arrive."

"Logical, yes…" The smile on the woman's face never faded and Severus perceived a sudden warmth rushing through his body.

"I am very glad you are back!" he said tensely. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"This last one was… an eventful trip," replied the deputy headmistress, taking his hand again. Severus clasped his fingers around hers and then, for no reason at all, pressed her hands to his chest. The world around them ceased to exist. Gone were all the thoughts, all the scheming and handling of political affairs that he was so very much accustomed to. There was only Minerva. And she was smiling.

When the magic of the moment began to fade, Severus realised that none of them, really, knew how to handle the situation elegantly from here. He assumed that Minerva was having the same thought and that, in a few seconds, they would break off and things would go back to normal, and none of them would speak of this ever again – as had happened with moments like this before. And all these thoughts happened in a manner of seconds, and they were accompanied by a feeling of regret that, after all these years, they could be no closer than this, could never be more than colleagues or, perhaps, friends.

Then, Minerva kissed Severus. And Severus kissed Minerva. And they both found that this was very much to their satisfaction, so they continued for a while before, once again, becoming painfully aware that, really, this was not very proper or age-appropriate behaviour at all -  _and_  in the middle of the front lawn of an ancient building! So they went in, for a cup of tea.

In the kitchen (having passed the hallway in complete, semi-embarrassed silence, the two professors found Morgana, much to their surprise, who was busy scrubbing the surface next to the fireplace – something Severus had never ever seen her do before. (He had always assumed this was House-Elf work.) The young woman was very concentrated on her work when they entered, so that Severus issued nothing but a terse 'lo and Minerva just patted her daughter's shoulder by way of a greeting. This prompted the following exchange:

"So you're back."

"Indeed, I am, Morgana. I'm glad to find you well occupied. Has your grandmother got you under her command again?"

"Nah –"

"Goodness, sweetheart, you are glowing. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm not. Shut up!"

"Yes, you are. Look at your ears. I'll have Toke have a look at you later on, shall I?"

Morgana turned forcibly now, only to stop in mid-track when hearing the name of her boyfriend – current boyfriend, one would have to say, Severus supposed.

"Wha- oh. Erm. Okay? Fine then. Tell him I want to see him in the dungeons."

"Come to think of it, perhaps your father would be the better option. Best to chose someone who knows that Severus is here and won't perform any unnecessary magic, of course…"

"Yeah, about that –"

"We were going to tell you, Minerva," intervened Severus quickly, trying to catch Morgana's gaze in order to check just how much of the previous scene she had witnessed, "that I have made great progress in my sessions with Toke and that everyday magic does not affect me as much as it used to. As a matter of fact, I think the worst is over. I appear to be comparatively stable again."

Minerva stared. "Severus… but that's wonderful!" She grabbed his hands, instinctively it seemed, and held him as before. It took a great deal of self-control not to withdraw, he found, since Morgana was still in the room and he could not, as yet, estimate how freely Minerva would treat their newfound shared privacy in front of others.

"It… is," he therefore managed, pretending to have to scratch his nose. "Toke did… a very good job."

"As did you," said Minerva warmly. "You really are a hero sometimes, Severus, even with regard to your own health."

"Yeah… you know what, I think I'll go upstairs and do some housework," came Morgana's voice from somewhere very far away. Severus took no notice of her. There was only Minerva again – her eyes, her smell, her warmth. He longed to take her hands again, but something deep inside rebelled against this decision.

Once Morgana was out of the room, the two professors took seat opposite each other at the kitchen table, unable to keep their eyes off each other, but equally unable to make verbal sense of this situation, or to break the awkwardness.

"She's… just a child after all," Minerva eventually chose to say. The most obvious way out. Things would proceed as they had in weeks and months before – and years, come to think of it. Years, too.

"Things changed while you were away," he replied awkwardly, attempting to keep the conversation where it ought to be. Minerva misunderstood.

"Oh, I am afraid you will have to get used to that during this time of the year. Morgana gets excited about the reopening of the Quidditch season long before the first game is anywhere in sight…"

"I didn't mean Morgana," he said harshly. Conversations with Vesta McGillivray had provided him with some focus again. Sometimes you had to be harsh with people. This, of course, was not the right time the then realised.

"I… I see?" said Minerva, obviously at a loss. Severus cursed his own inability to deal with intimacy. He would have to be harsh – or at least blunt. Yes, that was good. Previous approaches had led to nothing. And sometimes a radical change of tactic brought about surprising results.

"I am fairly sure that I have fallen in love with you," he declared, finding his voice factual and emotionless against all intentions. "It was not my choice."

Minerva stared at him. Had she been anyone else, Severus would have thought she was blushing a little. As it was, she was probably reacting to the heat of the fireplace and the kitchen in general. Come to think of it, the room was incredibly hot all of a sudden. But soon, perhaps, this was about to change. They were about to return to the state of clammy cold hands and surprise kisses on damp afternoon grass…

But suddenly Minerva rose and left. She managed what sounded a little like "I'm sorry" in-between two movements, and then Severus was left alone on an increasingly uncomfortable kitchen bench, allowing three of Morgana's favourite words to resound in his ear as though she was still here to judge the situation…

"Well done, genius."


	8. The Time-Traveller Disguise

_**Hamish McGillivray: "Blood Purity – The Delusion of A Family" – Excerpt 3: On Love** _

_Love, then, is something which pureblood witches and wizards find they have difficulty expressing appropriately. If uttered directly, one's opposite will assume a political agenda. If hinted at, the intention might not be understood. In her rather noteworthy pop cultural work, "How to Be Pure and Happy", author M. P. Sprout describes common pureblood dinner conversation in an unexpectedly sophisticated way. She asserts that_

" _[a]n exchange of the following kind:_

'How do you find the weather, dear Mrs. Smith?' – 'Oh, but fabulous, Mr. Black, at least on my side of the hill. Others, I feel, regard the upcoming storm with more worries.' – 'But surely, Mrs. Smith, you do not go into autumn unprepared?' – 'Surely not, Mr. Black. Why, I think I shall look after my daughter's premises a little and see to it that she hires a gardener just in time,'

_may well entail a whole lot of content very different from what an outside observer would perceive. From the conversation above, any competent member of pureblood society, would extract_

'How do you feel, dear Mrs. Smith?' – 'I have no worries about the current political situation, while others, whom I care about (or who are important social enemies of mine) might want to prepare themselves (possibly for a political threat coming from me).' – 'But surely, Mrs. Smith, you have plans of your own of how to deal with the (unspecified) situation (this might be anything from an imminent marriage to an upcoming war)?' – 'Why, yes. I am planning to get my daughter ready for marriage and will find her a suitable husband.'

_In more extreme cases, the final garden reference might be a double double entendre and refer to the speaker's "marriage" with her money, in which case "daughter" may stand for the speaker herself and "garden" or "gardener" may refer to the speaker's financial resources and/or the family's vault at Gringott's Bank._

_Pureblood society is complicated. Many people are glad not to be part of it._

 

~*~

_  
_

**The Time-Traveller Disguise**

Three weeks went by without any noteworthy occurrences. Severus met neither Minerva, who was at Hogwarts the entire time, nor Morgana, who left the house more frequently during reasonable hours as the year progressed (that is, she was not out exclusively at night time and in the company of half-naked, semi-professional strippers – or Toke). Nor, to his great surprise and discomfort, did Severus see much of Vesta McGillivray, who made a habit of staring at him from distances, such as the end of the long main corridor of the West Wing, but moving away when he tried to approach her. He suspected it was an intimidation technique.

By the end of March, then, it was Mawly, the House-Elf, who informed Severus of current events under Lady McGillivray's roof.

"Master Snape will be expected to attend tonight's meeting," she informed him. "Lots of powerful witches and wizards present, Mawly knows."

"Impossible," said the Snape, without looking up from his book, but very much attentive to her every word. "The lady knows I cannot disclose my being alive to the public. It would be too dangerous."

"The lady found a disguise for Master Snape," said Mawly sulkily, as though anyone doubting the thoroughness of her mistress's strategy was retarded by definition. "Master Snape will go in the shape of himself."

"Ah," said Severus uncomprehendingly, but still not moving, "that appears to be the most effective of disguises, of course."

"The best disguise - in a time-travelling house!" Mawly informed him. "People come to visit all the time."

"She wants me to disguise as my former self?" Severus frowned. "Sounds like a potentially dangerous undertaking."

"Lady says brave people don't mind risks," said Mawly slyly. Severus narrowed his eyes. Moments like this not only had the potential to show you who you really were, they also made you realise that other people held the same kind of knowledge. He set his book aside on the table at a snails pace, not as yet uncrossing his legs.

"And those who do are cowards, I presume?" he said slowly. "Very good."

He paused. Two things were on his mind now. One, Minerva. She would disapprove of this. And two, Minerva. It was hard to prove yourself to a woman while being a coward. Once again, Lady McGillivray had chosen exactly the right strategy to convince him to want to do her bidding. Minerva's mother, like Minerva herself, knew how to keep people on her team, even if her means were slightly different from her daughter's. The lady was obviously very aware that this was a dangerous undertaking to which he could not normally have agreed, but he would not be called a coward. And social meetings were, well… something he desired. Both of which she, too, had obviously taken into consideration. In a very twisted way, Severus thought, he enjoyed the way the lady's mind worked.

"Who is to attend?" he enquired.

"Lucius Malfoy," prompted the House-Elf, making Severus sit up straight in his chair, forgetting all about his book, "Lady Warrington-Selwyn, Damocles Belby and Mistress Minerva."

"Minerva is to attend one of her mother's dinners?"

"Yes, she is."

"She hates social gatherings! She kept away from society for many years now, discounting Christmas dinners. Why would she want to join this one?"

"In her function as Hogwarts representative in Africa," Mawly explained without elaborating.

"What nonsense!" said Severus sharply. "Hogwarts representative in Africa? She is deputy headmistress!"

"Lady says Hogwarts will find other teachers," said the House-Elf quietly. "Mistress Minerva must agree."

"Ha!"

This was ridiculous! For some reason, Severus felt entirely certain that Minerva would not want to leave her students behind in order to dabble in politics. It was not her thing. She was needed at Hogwarts. Both, students and teachers depended on her reliability and her organisational skills – because she was one of few who possessed enough of it to run a school of Hogwarts's size and importance. She would not leave. Or would she?

Not six hours later, his worst fears were confirmed.

"I intend to pass on the position of deputy headmistress to my friend and colleague Horace Slughorn," said a very official-sounding Minerva, who was standing very upright in front of a very small group of people whom Mawly had named earlier. Severus was among them, having been given a mild youth potion, just to be sure people bought the lie, which had given him an unpleasant tingle on the back of his neck, but nothing more. Malfoy stood a little away from Severus, eyeing the younger version of his former best friend rather suspiciously, while all other eyes in the room were on Minerva.

"Whatever will the school do without you?" said Damocles Belby smoothly. "We shall miss your guidance and your, ah, temper."

"I shall still be employed by and for the school," said Minerva crisply. "Only not as closely situated as the teaching staff. I suspect I shall spend a lot of time in the former wizarding colonies, conducting negotiations as to how our students  _are to be_   _treated_."

She put a small emphasis on these last words, so as to signal that, under her watchful eye, basic training would not resume its function of providing a socially acceptable way to beat wizarding society's 15-year-olds into submission – figuratively  _and_  literally, as had been the practice before Lucius Malfoy's generation had come along. Everyone in the room understood her statement for what it was. No one challenged it.

"Lots of sunshine in Africa, I hear," volunteered Lady Warrington-Selwyn instead after a short, embarrassed silence. She was usually the one who broke silences, Severus noted. He suspected that it was a privilege earned from high status rather than a personality trait.

"Lets not have social talk for a moment," said Minerva quickly and Severus could have sworn he saw a flicker of annoyance on her face. "This is not so much a dinner as it is a strategic gathering for those involved in the new "summer school" program, which, as you are all aware, will take a shape very similar to the former basic training for the British Wizarding Army, except that it will be open to both, wizards and witches, and that it will be strictly voluntary," (she threw a meaningful look in the direction of Damocles Belby) "as agreed upon by the newly instated board of generals, and in particular General Caelian Snape of M'bwa Camp, where this summer school will take place."

"Him of all people I would have expected to be in favour of making this mandatory," Belby mumbled. Severus made a mental note that Belby appeared to know the other Snape from somewhere. He suspected, though he did not know for sure, that Vesta McGillivray had wanted him to attend this meeting in order to enable him to choose his political path. He doubted that she had taken this step out of consideration for his personal safety, but suspected that this was a gesture which could only be read as an advance payment for his services regarding Minerva…

Speaking of which – the deputy headmistress had not spoken with him since her return. Her behaviour had been strictly formal and, he found, immensely evasive. What had happened the night he had mustered the courage to speak with her about his, ah, perceptions of their relationship? What had happened between the two of them then, and how on earth had their initial closeness lead to this situation of complete evasion? For the first time since he knew her, Severus thought, his best friend's behaviour appeared highly illogical and, at worst, unreasonable, too. Then again, she might be busy with her career plans – of which she had not seen the need to inform him.

He suddenly became aware that Lucius Malfoy had been edging towards him one inch at a time while Belby and Vesta McGillivray were discussing the details of Minerva's new occupation.

He jumped, therefore, when Lucius muttered "Severus" in a way only a Malfoy could, and looked up angrily, cursing himself for being caught off-guard.

"Bored with the meeting yet?"

"Well," said the former Potions master, true to his current guise, "it does not concern me much."

"Ah yes, because you are a visitor from the past," the Malfoy mumbled, not making clear whether he was being ironic or not. "And you are allowed to learn about the future?"

"As is protocol with time accidents," Severus said, bluntly repeating what he had learned in this household so far, "I'll be returned to my own time without any recollection of what I have seen or heard. Mr. McGillivray is very thorough in his work, I hear."

"I see," said Lucius slowly. "So, you were informed about the war?"

For this, too, Severus had come prepared.

"Everything," he said. "As to avoid complications. The war, the school, the Dark Lord…"

"Show me," said Lucius then, careful to keep his voice low enough not to draw any attention to them.

"Show me what?" Severus replied, getting a chill from the sudden familiarity of the situation.

"The Dark Mark," Lucius whispered. "Where you come from, he is still alive. You must still bear it."

Or, Severus thought, Vesta McGillivray had lured him here under false pretences – well, not any pretence at all, really, but nevertheless aware that he would not miss the opportunity of social contact – while, at the same time, suggesting to Lucius Malfoy that his former friend might still be among the living and thereby delivering Severus into the hands of the very man who held Severus's former social network together and was therefore the key figure to his future well-being. Thus, of course, making it inevitable for Severus to ally with her through marriage or some other means, in order to ensure continuing protection.

"No," he replied through grit teeth. "Not here. Not now. It is far too dangerous."

"The war is over," Lucius whispered. "Surely someone mention that to you?"

"I am not accustomed to showing  _it_  to just anyone, be they later versions of my current allies or not," said Severus poisonously, glaring at Vesta McGillivray, who side-glanced and smiled.

"Go on," Lucius nudged. "Just a quick glance."

"I said no!"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," whispered the Malfoy. In reflex, Severus turned to look at his friend's arm, then at the older man's face, his own pulled into a frown.

"What on earth could you possibly want to show me?"

"Grim times, my friend," said Lucius quietly. "The Dark Lord may be dead, but there are several alternative allegiances of value to be made in this time, more than one power-wielder among current political figures. Incidentally, I trust I can rely on your continuing support?"

Severus remained silent. Either, Lucius knew because Lady McGillivray had told him – which was possible. Sometimes the subtleties of wizarding politics required a surprising amount of bluntness. Or, he thought, the man was bluffing. Rather unusually well, of course, but who knew what a war could do to a person.

"I believe you know on what you can or can't rely with me," he therefore said cautiously. "I understand that now, after the war, you know exactly where we stand, you and I."

"I would _,_ if you rolled up your sleeve!"

"No!"

With a movement rather more forceful than Severus had anticipated, Lucius grabbed his arm and twisted it towards himself, obviously intending to pull up his friend's sleeve without his permission. Within the same second, of course, Severus had whipped out his wand, pointing it straight between Lucius's eyes. It was an old reflex. He knew better than to engage in bodily combat, had always been able to rely on his magic more than on physical strength. The question was – would magical combat prove effective in this situation? Chances were not high.

Only then did Severus notice that everyone else in the room had stopped and turned to look at them being trapped in the motionless stance that is caused only by battles of the greatest minds. He thought that, with all these very distinguished purebloods in the room, all older than Lucius or him by several decades, the two of them probably looked like a pair of schoolboys who had got into a quarrel in their benches during a grown-up ceremony.

The same thought seemed to have crossed Lucius's mind, for he let go of Severus's arm as quickly as he had snatched it and made an apologetic gesture towards the other guests.

"Forgive us. Do continue."

"Young Snape is my guest," Vesta McGillivray's voice cut into the silence, not taking her eyes off Severus's arm. "He will not be touched unless I say so. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," said Lucius quickly, causing Severus to revise his version of Lady McGillivray's plans for this evening yet again. What on earth did she want to achieve?

The Malfoy, in his usual charming manner, made sure to let Severus know before the end of the meeting that he  _would_  see the mark, or else not rest until he had seen it, to make sure that – how had he put it… 'Severus wasn't bloody alive and hiding from the world while others were doing the dirty work'. Clearly, this was the last dinner in a while which Severus would attend. He took note of it with a pang of regret.

Late in the evening, when all guests had left, Severus saw Minerva at the main entrance door, holding an owl on her left arm while perusing a letter in her other hand. For a long time, he considered approaching her. Then, as if suddenly aware of his presence, Minerva turned towards a shed where, among other things, a stack of broomsticks was always at the ready, gave the owl leave to fly up to the North Tower, and then set off herself – southwards, Severus noted with a small frown on his face.


	9. Toke's Ambitions

_Dear Caelian,_

_It has been a while since we heard from each other, but I trust you will appreciate my effort of sending you a letter by owl before asking to speak to you in person. I am told you have grown accustomed to a certain seclusion and wish to remain in Africa despite recent political events. This kind of inflexible behaviour appears to result from a set of personality traits which you share with your dear father, of course, but I believe nothing to be insurmountable in the face of good news the like of which I am about to present to you._

_First of all, I wish to convey my utmost gladness to find you in such good health. You will be delighted to hear that your return from societal death holds great opportunities of social advancement for you. As a matter of fact, I am happy to say that this advancement involves my daughter Minerva, whom you have met a few times in recent weeks, of course, and with whom you share a singular history of mutual affection._

_In order to make my proposition and to see if you are indeed still the man you always were (as my daughter emphasises), I seek to speak with you in person next Saturday evening. As you are aware, there is an exit to the army floo network in this house. Arrive at your convenience, but no later than 10pm._

_Regards,_

_Vesta McGillivray._

~*~

Sometimes, life was worth living just for its own sake. At certain points in Severus's everyday monotony, it was easy to just sit back and take pleasure in the joys offered to a man with little magic and a great deal of imagination.

"Can you please let me down now? There is a draught up here."

Spring had come and Livius Toke, boyfriend to Morgana and, as it happened, personal attendant to Severus for his current ailment, was hanging upside down from the chandelier in the West Wing library. Strands of dirty, blonde hair were dangling just inches above the desk below, and the boy was struggling to keep his robes up where they belonged so that they would cover his hairless legs and other socially unacceptable parts. The view was considerably more entertaining than Severus had anticipated.

"I shall see if I can remember the counter spell," he said, moving his wand as though unintentionally, which made Toke's body bob up and down without quite hitting the ceiling, of course. Sometimes, you had to be nice.

The nurse's round face turned the same colour as his robes.

"There is no bloody counter spell! Just point your wand down and let gravity do the rest!" he shouted, pedalling helplessly, and Severus looked up again, this time permitting a small smile to betray his state of mind.

"Ah, yes. Of course. My mistake."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," said Toke angrily when the former Potions master had done him the favour of releasing Levicorpus's grip, scrambling to his feet and brushing some dust off his clothes. "You are angry that my predictions of how far you will come each session turn out right and you want to punish me for it!"

"Why would I punish you for a correct assessment? May I remind you that, as a teacher, it is my job to make you think."

"It used to be your job," said Toke pertly. "I am now in my second half of my medical education and I quite enjoy the lack of constant pressure to win points for my house at all given opportunities."

"Always remember," said Severus lazily, "the house point system was introduced for our students' benefit at the time."

"And you still remember that? Were you even born when that happened?" Toke sounded doubtful. Severus had to hand it to him, he knew his history.

"I do, in fact," he therefore said, rather more honestly than intended. "I was actually in my third year when Dumbledore let the thrashing vault be replaced by a more, ah, student-friendly structure."

Toke blinked and shut up. There just was no pleasing him. Severus pointed at the chandelier with his wand and attempted a wordless incineration. As so many times before, the attempt failed.

"I've been thinking," began Toke, watching the process with a look of fascination and expectancy, followed by one of disappointment – as so many times before.

"And about time, too," replied Severus darkly, his gaze continuing to point upwards. "But don't worry, she looks so young that there will barely be any talk."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Listen to you sounding almost like an adult," Severus noticed. "I am referring to Morgana, of course. The only thing you appear to be thinking about these days."

Toke blushed. "I do not! … Hey! She- she's not old."

"Older than you," Severus remarked. "Pureblood society tends to disfavour bonds between older witches and younger wizards – spoils the offspring, they say. Though given Morgana's status, you might just be lucky."

"What are you talking about?" replied Toke angrily. "Apart from the fact that this is none of your business…" he paused for a moment, actually seeming to consider whether he wanted to continue this conversation, but then deciding for it – of course, "Morgana and I have no intention of marrying."

"How fortunate," Severus said coldly. "Or unfortunate, depending on your point of view. I am sure Lady McGillivray would have appreciated a link with the Toke family."

"Don't be ridiculous," said the younger man, suddenly awkward. "Lady McGillivray disapproves of the matrilineality of my family branch."

"That a fact?" said Severus, trying to voicelessly levitate the chair on which the younger man had nervously settled. "She is known for her harsh criteria concerning blood bonds with her own line, of course…"

"Unrivalled," Toke agreed. "There are few lines left that are still pure enough for Vesta McGillivray – or Diana Warrington-Selwyn, as a matter of fact. The two seem to have roughly the same standards."

"Yes, well, I am sure you wouldn't want to be Lady Warrington-Selwyn's next husband," said Severus pensively, his eyes on his wand. "She is well-known for going through husbands like a Gryffindor student goes through Zonko's lollipops. Kills them off one after the other, they say."

Toke face pulled into something that looked a bit like a Death Eater's expression, who had just been proposed to join in a conspiracy against the Dark Lord. Severus knew his look. Lucius had had it on his face when Murray had proposed the uprising back in the seventies. It also reminded the former potions master of his own mirror reflection, back at Spinner's End, that one night when the Dark Lord had killed all that was precious to Severus, back then, when he had realised that he would have to readjust his priorities…

"I would appreciate if you didn't speak of the lady in such unfavourable tones," said Toke slowly after a little pause. "These are just rumours, designed to damage her reputation…"

"That may be," said Severus sharply, "or it may not. We cannot know."

"If you must know," said Toke now, crossing his arms, "Morgana is disinclined to marry at all, since that would catapult her right into society's midst, where she doesn't feel she belongs."

Severus nodded. "But you think she does?"

"I think I do," said Toke angrily. "So there you see. That is our dilemma."

"Interesting," muttered Severus. "It never occurred to me that some people might avoid marriage simply to avoid contact with pureblood society. Surely such contact is usually to be desired?"

"Not if you are Vesta McGillivray's granddaughter, perhaps," shrugged the nurse. He looked somewhat dejected now, a little like he had when Severus had denied him access to the temporarily instated duelling club, on the grounds of his appalling Defence mark, in the year of the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart's presence at Hogwarts. His lips curled slightly. Watching young ambitions being squashed was just unhealthily entertaining. Minerva kept warning him about it.

"There there," he therefore said, "I am sure she will change her mind as soon as you taken on a proper profession."

This hit home. Toke's gaze darkened instantly, he made to say something, but Severus' face appeared to give him away, for the nurse just slumped together once more, heaving a sigh of hopelessness.

"Merlin, you really know how to make people miserable."

"It is a talent," said a voice from the door and the two men turned with a start. "And one of the reasons why most people used to shun your former professor's presence, even before his exile in this house."

"Minerva!" exclaimed Severus while Toke hurried to get up and shake his former Transfiguration teacher's hand. "To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of your return?"

Inside, a feeling that had been keeping him awake at night and made him irritable and restless during the day returned within seconds of seeing her again. She was back. She was back! And they were talking!

"I bring rather unpleasant news, I'm afraid," replied the witch earnestly while Toke was returning to his chair. "I am sorry to have to tell you, Severus, but word is out that you are not as dead as you appeared to be. People have begun to talk – and to ask questions."

Severus felt all blood drain from his face. It was all he could do not to recoil instinctively and start practising damaging curses at once. This was the moment he had been dreading ever since his encounter with Lucius Malfoy on the evening of the dinner, shortly before Minerva's last departure. It had, really, only been a matter of time. For all intents and purposes, Lucius was not as much of a fool as everyone seemed to think. He could add two and two together, as this situation made very apparent. What a fool he had been not to trust his own instincts. Why had he not refused Vesta McGillivray in her endeavour to destroy him?

"How is this possible?" asked Toke timidly. "We took the greatest care to keep all this a secret…"

"And it shouldn't have got out," agreed Minerva. "This is ridiculous. This building is so very much outside of time that I sometimes think nothing that goes on within these walls could ever leak through to the outside world."

"Was it Malfoy?" Severus enquired, more to the point than his quirky attendant.

"That is likely," said Minerva, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I have not been able to find out what exactly happened. Apparently, a number of people are out looking for your body as we speak. All under the cover of paying respect to the deceased, of course. Why on earth they don't realise that showing up to bury someone months after he deceased is not showing much respect in the first place is completely beyond me. But we have no time to lose. I wanted to inform you first, then go downstairs to talk to my mother. There is one way to undo all this, but we must act quickly."

"I shall accompany you," said Severus promptly, getting up. "I assume that she has the means to silence the people involved in this?"

"You have no idea," mumbled the former deputy headmistress, disappearing through the library door and in the direction of the basement again. Severus turned absently to Toke, his wand still loosely in his hand, his mind suddenly turning to the question of magic again… and with a crash, the chair underneath the nurse's backside exploded.

Seconds later, Severus found himself helping a very perplexed Livius Toke back to his feet and returning the nurse's chair to its previous state, a heap of highly contradictory emotions developing all at once underneath a surface of general excitation.

"What was that?" asked Toke with a now thoroughly shaky voice.

"That," said Severus, his eyes glittering, "was one vital piece of my magic returning to me the moment I may just need it most."


	10. The Other Snape

_Cuthbert Binns: "…regarding your question on what I know about your family history." In: Collected Letters – Part III_

_Pureblood marriage, as you know, is inseparable. Oh, they say the head of the family can divorce his wife if he wants to, but, essentially, this is not true. To the present date, the only wizarding marriage that was ever officially recognised as "divorced" was that of the Most Honorable Vesta McGillivray's daughter and her husband in the early seventies. It seems that even the oldest and most rigid of traditions can be broken if your mother has a certain degree of influence over the Ministry of Magic and if you happen to be best friends with Dumbledore, Head of the Wizengamot._

_This was not the first time young Mistress McGillivray, or Professor McGonagall, as we know her today, provided cause for a lot of pureblood controversy. She did turn down the general's son when both were old enough to get married, for reasons known only to herself. People at the time assumed that she intended to go into international Quidditch because even then she was playing for the Chuddley Cannons. It was not unusual for witches to take this kind of career, of course, not even then, but opposing the marriage plans of her own parents – oh, whom am I kidding – opposing the Most Honourable Vesta McGillivray herself, family relation or not, caused quite a stir at the time._

_The general's son, then, grew up unmarried, nevertheless making a splendid career in the then thriving Wizarding Army. At forty years of age, he had made colonel and also fallen in love with a very young witch, pureblood, though slightly unorthodox. This witch's name was Virbia Longbottom, cousin to the infamous pair of Aurors who opposed You-Know-Who, of course. Virbia Longbottom was the young colonel's only true love. Did they plan for any children you might wonder. Now, this is where the story gets interesting. I have a limited number of sources only. Among them Virbia Longbottom's private notes, published by Rita Skeeter after the young woman's death (some kind of illness, I believe). She was always known for her vivid imagination, of course, but personally, I don't believe she would have invented the existence of the son she mentions again and again. A son that appears in no other record of the time, except for the occasional mismatch of your own person with this supposed son. Doubtless, an easy mistake to make what with your surname matching that of the colonel – or general, I should say, I suppose. For that is his current title. General Caelian Lance Snape. You might have heard of him._

~*~

The walk down the dimly lit corridor in the direction of Vesta McGillivray's office seemed to take longer than it had ever before. Minerva strode forward at the head, Severus and Toke following at a small distance, the latter unsure as to whether his presence was required or not. Everything was quiet except for their hasty steps on the stone floor reverberating from the walls, whose tartan tapestry had begun to make sense to Severus in recent weeks. (He had found a book which listed all the old clans and "their" tartans, and even though this distribution had happened rather arbitrarily at some point during the 16th century, he had come to realise that Vesta McGillivray appreciated this form of symbolic belonging and that, judging from which patterns she chose for which room and hanging, there was likely a close connection to the McPhail clan in this house, one of the oldest branches on the Scottish side of the pureblood family tree. His guess was that perhaps Lady Vesta herself had carried that name at one time.)

When they arrived at door number five (Severus had counted), Minerva paused for a moment, took a deep breath, looked down her robes and straightened them a little, and eventually entered without knocking, closely followed by Severus and Toke.

"Mother, this is a matter of the greatest importance, I need to speak to you immediate- oh."

Severus passed the doorstep the moment Vesta McGillivray rose from her seat. She had been talking to a man whose presence Minerva had evidently not expected. Her expression was one of mixed bewilderment. She clearly had difficulties adjusting her course of action to this new situation.

When the visitor rose, Severus had to force himself not to take a step backwards, hearing a small gasp of surprise from Toke behind his ear – a little too close for his taste. The first noticeable thing about the man was his height. His head nearly hit the ceiling, which was at approximately eight feet, Severus wagered, and his hair and beard were black like Severus's own. A pair of grey, emotionless eyes met Minerva's gaze, and then settled enquiringly on Severus's, who returned it all too gladly, his wand firmly in his hand in the safety of his pocket. The words were thought only now, not spoken…

Legilimens.

But nothing happened. To Severus's great surprise and discomfort, nothing but the man's face changed, ever so slightly, his thin lips curling slightly as though disapproving of what he saw.

"Is this the man you spoke of?"

"He is indeed," said Vesta McGillivray unmovingly. "My proposal stands. Do take some time to consider it, young Snape, but not too much."

Severus frowned. "Proposal?"

"Ah, yes." A smile flashed over the old lady's face, causing Minerva to purse her lips, who was evidently in on the joke, but did not approve of it.

"Severus Snape, this is General Caelian Snape of the Wizarding Army – you were aware of his existence, of course."

Severus blinked. Just for a second. This day had to have come. He realised it now. But, like Minerva, he had not been prepared for this moment in a way he had been prepared for all social encounters in recent weeks and months."

"An honour to meet you, sir," he said eventually, settling for the most polite of all greetings. If you knew Hagrid, of course, there was no reason to assume that size equalled a predisposition for aggressiveness, but it never hurt to be cautious. Especially with Legilimency out of the picture – why on earth would it not work now?

The general nodded curtly. His gaze made Severus uncomfortable. It was too straightforwardly interested – a little confrontational, too, he felt. Not like the Dark Lord's… but a little like Dumbledore's. Or perhaps a mixture of the two.

Minerva, in the meantime, crossed her arms and glared at her mother, obviously longing for clarification.

"Why?"

"I fail to understand your question," replied her mother casually. She went behind her desk again, helping herself to some more tea. "Are you asking me why I would invite an old friend of the family to my office at this time of the day?"

"No! Well… that is also an explanation to which I would attentively listen, should you ever choose to give it," said Minerva. "No, my question is more simple than that – I want to know why you talk about Severus to everyone and whether this is the reason word got out that he is still alive."

"Now, now, Minerva," said Vesta McGillivray soothingly, "Young Snape here is hardly 'everyone'. And we have been discussing matters that do not concern you. If I find I have to explain myself, it will be to –" (for a fraction of a second, she paused) "young Severus," she then chose from the range of available terms, taking not only her daughter by surprise about the sudden abandonment of the word "halfblood", or, as she would usually call him in company, "your friend".

"I should leave, perhaps," said the soldier now, perhaps realising that the conversation was not going to get any less awkward. "You will have my answer this time tomorrow."

Vesta McGillivray gave him a small nod and permitted the kissing of her hand.

The general then marched towards the fireplace, folded himself together best as he could, and extracted some floo powder from the pocket of his red uniform.

"13 Myrddin Street, Camden," he said sternly and then vanished in the flames with a small salute, his hand appearing to pass right through the red stone wall.

Vesta McGillivray turned back to her daughter, an expression of mild disapproval on her face.

"We discussed the option of knocking, of course."

"Mother, Severus's life is in danger if the wrong kind of people find out that he isn't quite as dead as they think," said Minerva tensely. "Did you tell anyone- Lucius Malfoy, perhaps…?"

"Goodness no!" said Vesta McGillivray, as though realising just now that her only child was mentally challenged. "Tell me, Minerva, why would I disclose such a valuable piece of information to one of my most persistent enemies? Young Malfoy knows nothing, even if he came very close the other day. Although, like his father before him, he has a tendency to just pretend he is in control until proven wrong. A bit of a nuisance, really…"

"So you didn't tell him?"

"I did not."

"I must ask you a favour then," Minerva said, looking a little relieved. Severus tried to catch her gaze, but she either avoided it or was too busy worrying about his well-being to include him in the conversation. "I must ask you to try and get rid of that rumour for me."

"And how am I to accomplish that?" replied her mother sternly, allowing this highly rhetorical question to linger in the room for a while before permitting herself a little, smug smile and retreating towards the window as though considering all possible options. Severus thought that she must be aware there was no one in this room who would be fooled into believing that she could not grant her daughter this request. Against his will, he was reminded of the Dark Lord again, of the smooth coldness with which the older man had dealt with situations like this, and how that kind of demeanour had made it seem to his followers (all youngsters just barely above Hogwarts age, Severus had recently come to realise) as though no decision could ever be wrong, no word, even, be doubted by mere mortals.

Severus looked down himself and found that he had crossed his arms in a way that one arm was now touching the Dark-Mark-shaped scar on the other. 'More than one power-wielder', Lucius had said. Surely he had not been referring to the Lady herself? How different, really, was a Dark Lady to a Dark Lord, when it came to a general hunger for power and followers…?

Minerva's mentioning of his name let him snap back into the real world. Toke was standing next to him now, his short arms crossed behind his back in a soldier-like pose, listening attentively. (He had used to do that in Potions, Severus remembered. It was the conventional way for Slytherins and ex-Slytherins alike to try and gain the respect of their elders. And, indeed, it worked every time.) Minerva approached her mother and the two of them stood a little apart now, closer to the window. Severus disliked this setting. It emphasised his youth (for they were standing higher than he did, it emphasised his blood status (for this kind of segregation could be easily found among Slytherin students negotiating status – only not really, because Toke was pure-blood, of course), but most of all it emphasised his isolation and his separation from Minerva, who was very much in her official mode almost all the time when she spoke to her mother about matters relating to the outside world. And this while he, Severus, was cut off from it, possible for years.

"Perhaps," said Lady McGillivray now, "we worry too much about this Snape's actual physical safety. After all, he is bound to this house, and I don't have to tell you that even the Hogwarts walls couldn't give him this amount of protection."

"He will want to go out at some point," Minerva said tiredly. "The general aim is for him to be able to leave long before he has regained his full magical powers."

"Yes, yes. I do agree that it would be foolish to expose him as yet," said Lady McGillivray pensively, watching Severus as a wolf would her prey. "What do you propose, a simple time 'accident'?"

"I wouldn't like father dragged into this," said Minerva quietly. "You have other means, don't you?"

Her mother smiled again. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you are asking me to alter the memories of a considerable amount of people for your personal gain. Is that what you are asking me to do, Minerva?"

Her daughter did not reply. Severus, who had been wondering what exactly his friend had in mind, became suddenly aware of how unlike Minerva it was to use such extreme measures – or to ask them of her own mother, powerful though she might be. He then went on thinking that he would not have dreamed to see the day when a former Gryffindor would propose the use of mind magic for her own, personal gain. Or at least for the benefit of her allies. He reminded himself that Legilimency had related fields, which were not quite as harmless as invading a person's privacy of thought and extracting their deepest secrets. And watching Minerva's face now, he could not help remembering that these were highly illegal, too, at least as much as Legilimency was if you did not have your opposite's permission to peruse their thoughts.

"I see," said Lady McGillivray, whose impression clearly resembled Severus's. "Well, I must say I am grateful to detect a bit of Slytherin thinking in my own daughter from time to time." She threw a satisfied glance in Severus's direction, who suddenly and without knowing how, saw a very clear image of himself and Minerva holding hands during a wedding ceremony – during their wedding ceremony, he knew. Baffled, he attempted to find out where the thought had come from, but as quickly as it had appeared, the image stored itself in his subconscious, making it impossible to tell from where it had originated. With sudden alarm, Severus grabbed his wand in his pocket, letting his mind go completely blank within seconds. It was a reflex. The Dark Lord had been prone to sudden Legilimency attacks. This was different, however, and admittedly he had never had the time to get involved in mind-addling magic. It had just always been one step outside his reach.

"I shall see what I can do," said Vesta McGillivray now, turning towards her daughter again, "in order to assist your half-blood friend in his safe return to society as a fully accepted member. Expect the situation to be under control by tomorrow around tea-time."

Severus took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of his chest. If his magic continued to grow back at this speed, maybe it was irrelevant what Lucius – or anyone else, of course – thought of his survival. Maybe he would return to his full strength much sooner than they had all anticipated. And maybe, just maybe, the course Vesta McGillivray was suggesting for him with every breath, every gaze, every syllable of her current contributions to the conversation, was not the worst path after all. For a moment, as he was standing in his host's tartan office, watching the two women talk about his safety and his future, Severus felt that he would really very much have liked Minerva to fall in love with him. And that he would gladly marry her, should she ever want to.


	11. Back in the Game

_Trigemina Scrofa Shunpike: "Basic Mind Magic in 101 Easy Steps – A Summary"_

_Today's academics differentiate between four categories of mind magic:_

_Occlumency: The art of closing one's mind off against other witches' or wizards' attempts of using Legilimency against oneself. Not taught at Hogwarts, but there are quite a few autodidactic learners and practitioners, due to the specific magical skills of the main figures of the last wizarding war. Occlumency can be brought to perfection only with the help of a magic wand although it belongs to the few areas of magic that do not, in fact, require the aid of a wand on a more basic level. The art also performable by proxy, in which case its incantation is "Occlumaccess"._

_Obliviation: The art of deleting another person's memory, or parts of it, altogether. For legal use, the caster must obtain the other person's written permission. Otherwise the use is prohibited and penalised with two months in Azkaban, surface level. A wand is required at all levels. The incantation is "Obliviate"._

_Legilimency: The art of penetrating another person's mind and extracting emotions or thoughts. Highly illegal activity, which is penalised with three months in Azkaban, surface or ground level. A wand is always required, although rumours exist about wandless use performed by particularly skilled individuals. The incantation is "Legilimens"._

_Evicimency: The art of manipulating another human being's thoughts and memories. Like the other three disciplines, Evicimency is not necessarily noticeable (except through clumsy use) which sets it apart from cruder methods of mind-control, such as the Imperius Curse. Its use is nevertheless illegal, however, and penalised with a full twenty years in Azkaban, ground level. It is worth noting that the only reason the punishment was set below 'lifelong' is that there have only ever been a handful of witches or wizards powerful enough to master Evicimency in the first place, all of whom are under close observation by the Ministry of Magic. A wand is a definite requirement for this spell. Its incantation is "Evicimens"._

~*~

She had disappeared far too quickly again. Of course, Severus had not spoken to her before her departure, and of course she had avoided his gaze – as usual. It was hard to tell whether she was being a little evasive and very busy, or whether the whole purpose of her new job was to have an excuse for being home as little as possible, as to not have to speak with Severus, or see him.

And the fewer their encounters got, the more obsessed Severus found he became about the thought of speaking to her again on unambiguous terms. The less he saw of her, the more he craved to be the kind of man who just took charge and control of the situation at an opportune moment. The kind of man Minerva would instantly trust – the kind of man she would not avoid.

"Imagine myself in the middle of an unrequited-love story once more," Severus grumbled while descending the staircase to the small wine cellar in the East Wing the next day in the early afternoon, having decided that his daily practice of the more complicated transfiguration spells was best completed down there, far away from Toke's compassionate eyes and Morgana's merciless jibes. "And one, in which the odds are so immensely unfavourable."

The sudden shape of an individual moving through the darkness at the end of the corridor caught his attention and he stopped. He was not accustomed to meeting people here. Lady McGillivray, it seemed, had never once set foot in this part of her house, since it was always the House-Elf who came for food or drink while Severus was practising his spells. Hamish McGillivray (Severus had never heard anyone refer to him as 'Laird', for some reason) seemed to exclusively occupy the upper levels of the house, except on official occasions, and Morgana… well, Morgana had good reasons to be upstairs at this precise moment, one of them being a jinx Severus had put on the door that lead to the basement, which caused anyone passing through to turn around instantly and return to where they had come from. For the individual in question, this felt as though they were stepping through a door into the exact same room from which they had come. A handy piece of work, making it very likely now, of course, that the person opposite Severus had come from the other side, probably down the second staircase in the other wing. An intruder, likely, or worse – a time-traveller.

There was nothing for it but to delve into the unknown waters of this newly discovered social pond. Severus disliked this kind of situation. It was easy to know where you stood in a foreseen confrontation, but strangers, in a situation like this – could provide all kinds of problems. He strode forward, willing his body to display dominance and determination. The stranger stopped, turned – and grinned.

"Severus!"

"And Merlin knows who you are. Certainly not Lucius Malfoy, because how would he have entered a place which is not rooted in time without its owner's knowledge?"

The fair-haired wizard gave a light-hearted laugh and approached his old friend, who now stood rooted to one spot, undecided about how to react.

"Or perhaps," Lucius said, "I am here on the owner's wife's personal invitation. How about that?"

"Unlikely," remarked Severus, "but intriguing. Please explain."

"There is nothing to explain," said Lucius bluntly. "I am visiting Lady McGillivray. She invited me not two hours ago."

"And then sent you down here for some wine?" Severus asked, frowning.

"Let's say I sent myself," replied the other wizard smoothly. "Knowing your enemy's premises always helps. And there was the chance of bumping into you, of course, which I wouldn't have wanted to miss… I did tell you I would find out eventually, did I not? And there is nothing you can do to stop me this time. Not all by yourself, down here…"

Severus suppressed a shiver. A Malfoy stood by his word. A Malfoy always got his will. These concepts were so deeply engraved in his memory that he took a few seconds to remember that Lucius, too, was bound by certain rules in this household and that he, Severus, was protected not only by the standard protocol, which dictated how to interact with time-travellers, but also by the return of his ability to perform voiceless magic. He had duelled Lucius Malfoy before, under fair conditions (that is to say, where he was not honour-bound to let him win). He knew the man's weaknesses.

To a certain degree, Lucius seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"I'll have to be back upstairs in a moment, of course," he said, sounding a little undecided. "So… have you travelled through time again?"

"Obviously," replied Severus coldly. "Otherwise you would find me far less mobile these days, I am told."

"You are being told many things it seems," replied Lucius slowly, his voice getting very low and dangerous now. "Indeed, you must be the most knowledgeable time-traveller I have ever met."

"You have active recollections of meeting time-travellers?"

"I remember meeting you," said the Malfoy sharply, "even though it is said that the memory of a meeting with a time-traveller usually fades after a few hours or even disappears completely."

(Severus remembered Hamish McGillivray, suddenly realising that, what with the kind of Obliviation skill needed when working as a practical historian, the two McGillivrays had all known forms of mind magic neatly divided between them, constantly striving to bring them to perfection, if he knew anything about Minerva's family traits.)

"Which is a further clue to me that you are not, in fact, who you pretend to be," Lucius now added. "I'll tell you something, I am beginning to think that you actually made it through the war alive and are hiding out in a pureblood manor again, just as you used to."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Fascinating theory."

"No more chit-chat," hissed the Malfoy. "I want proof of your words for a change!" And he made, as he had before, for Severus's arm in an attempt to discover whether or not there was a Dark Mark on it – the ultimate proof of Severus's true identity. No time-travelling protocol seemed to concern him now, Severus noted with fascination, unmoving and concentrated.

Not a second later, the Malfoy pulled back his hand in reflex, giving a small scream of pain and shaking it vigorously while glaring at his former best friend with utter resentment and some humiliation on his pointed face. Severus permitted himself a thin smile. Voiceless magic made you ever so much faster in sudden, unexpected combat.

"Damn you, I knew it!" Lucius pressed forth, still clutching his hand.

"Stop attempting to undress me!" Severus snapped, never letting go of his wand.

"Don't pretend to be something you are not, halfblood!" (This stung.) "You are our Severus, you survived the war, Merlin knows how, and you have made just the right kind of friendship at just the right time once again, am I correct?"

Severus could not help looking a little smug. He had to admit that the admiration in his friend's voice more than made up for the previous slur. Not that he wasn't used to them from Lucius, who had used to tease him about the fact that he was one of few who were aware of Severus's true blood status.

"And you are hiding from us? From me?"

"Do you find that unreasonable?"

"I find it…" Lucius hesitated, looking Severus up and down, "despicable," he then said in a less aggressive tone of voice. "But, now I mention it, what else did I expect?"

Something inside Severus wanted to grace this with another stinging hex, but decided against it on the grounds of a lingering doubt of whether this Lucius Malfoy was, in fact, real or a figment of his imagination or, indeed, something the manor had cooked up to torture him for no particular reason at all. It would not be the first time.

"Was it her who told you then?" Severus resolved to ask instead, deciding that he might as well try and find out where he stood. "The lady, I mean?"

"We discussed you," said the Malfoy loftily. "Not that I would have required any information. I know you, Severus. Better than you think. And your former self would not have dared pushing me back."

Severus crossed his arms, doubting this.

"It appears that Lady McGillivray obliviated quite a lot of people on your behalf, by the way," Lucius said after a while. "I would go as far as to say that she modified people's memories to remember things other than having seen you during the last meeting under this roof. I heard rumours that she dabbled in Evicimency for a while in her youth, but it is so hard to confirm this kind of rumour with the older generation. If they share any information with you at all, they do so reluctantly."

"And the lady more so than anyone else, of course," mused Severus.

"Very definitely," nodded Lucius. "Anyway, I am grateful that I wasn't among those she chose to exclude from her current plans. On the contrary, it seems that your little secret," he accompanied his words with a pointedly reproachful look, "has brought the two of us much closer together. – The lady and me, that is," he added. "Don't look like that. Merlin knows, I am as close to you as I ever will be to a halfblood double-crosser."

"I am gratified to hear it," replied the former Potions master emotionlessly, attempting to decipher the Malfoy's thoughts, which were spinning, but not producing any coherent picture at the moment. "Is that the result of tonight's conversation? That you two are… a unit now?"

"So far, yes." replied Lucius, looking smug. "I shouldn't be too proud of this acquaintance, if it is her habit to surround herself with known halfbloods these days, though. I assume she doesn't know, though, does she? Did you revive your old soldier tale again?"

"The lady knows about my parentage," said Severus, regretting his words the very second he had uttered them. "She, ah, will know what to do once the time has come to reinstate me in society."

"And when will that happy day come to pass?"

"Sooner than you think, perhaps," said Severus firmly. "I am regaining strength by the minute it sometimes seems. I might go so far as to say that I may be back in shape within a year or two."

"Your old… shape?"

Sometimes, the heat of the moment was not a good thing to be carried away upon. Lucius did have an effect on him still, Severus noted, as did the prospect of his friendship, well, alliance.

"Yes," he said coldly, his face unmoving, "psychomotor skills. I had an accident."

"A magical one?"

"All accidents are magical in a wizarding war."

"Especially if they concern the Dark Lord himself when dealing with a traitor," Lucius mused, looking smugly confident of having found a weak spot.

Severus crossed his arms, angry with himself, but not yet giving up. "If I am guessing correctly, you and your wife were busy worrying about your son at times when others were giving their life for the cause."

"Just as you are busy hiding away from the world as others suffer the consequences of the cause – one you never fully supported, if I might add."

"I merely know how to deal with a tilted scale. It was Minerva who found me, half-dead. It was Minerva's side who won the war. Only a fool would not openly side with the Order of the Phoenix these days."

"And so we all do," Lucius conceded. "But no one is pretending now that we weren't all in for reasons of our own."

"And some, it seems," Severus mused, "are engaging in new activities, to do with… new political powers, was that your wording? The preparation of another war, perhaps?"

"Not so much," Lucius said slowly. "We all grow older. It seems that most of us decided for country houses in the outback and against messy killings among our own kind with no victory in sight."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "An astonishing change of spirit."

"Let's call it reason," said the Malfoy thoughtfully. "Plus, of course, the new Ministry knows an astonishing amount of names, which may or may not have to do with the Dark Lord's habit of allowing familiarity among the Inner Circle in recent months – the losing of the masks, if you will. Assuming there is a leak, of course, which no one really wants to believe."

"Yet, everyone knows I sided with the Order," Severus observed. "Which means that once word gets out about me not being quite as dead as expected, a great amount of people will wish to remedy that."

"Very much so," Lucius said firmly.

"Will you be disappointed to find that expected no less?" Severus enquired curiously. "After all, it is the reason why I am disinclined to make my being alive public in the first place."

"Which brings me to the subject of payment," Lucius said with a small grin. "My silence will allow you to continue breathing. What will you do for me?"

"I thought you and the lady had an agreement?"

"Let's say we're in the middle of it."

"I trade information for silence."

"What kind of information?"

"Depending on how your conversation goes, information on the lady, or on your common enemies – or at least those who, against all odds, still frequent this house from time to time."

"Done. That gives me a very good starting point with her, don't you think?"

"Rather," said Severus motionlessly. "Would you like me to seal the information so that she cannot extract it from your mind?"

Lucius looked at him, not understanding.

"You must realise that someone as adept at Evicimency and Obliviation is likely to have an insight in Legilimency as well and should have no trouble at all collecting information such as the memory of the conversation we just had," Severus said, watching the Malfoy's expression carefully.

It took the older man a moment to decide.

"Very well," he then said. "I am sure I can tell a camouflage spell from whatever else you might be trying in there. Did you know I pride myself with the possession of basic Occlumency skills?"

"So you keep saying," replied Severus calmly, astonished and glad at the same time to find that the old familiarity was returning so quickly. That the Malfoy agreed to have his former friend (though current who knew what) poke around in his mind was a stroke of luck, no less. Now, he would find out just how far his Legilimency skills had recovered. It was a fascinating subject to explore.

Severus took out his wand, placed it in Lucius's outstretched hand – an old sign between them, signalling that no magic was performed against the other's will. (It had come in handy especially in cases like this one, where Lucius had required special protection of his thoughts and memories – only that Severus had not often been pursuing an objective of his own back then.)

"Occlumaccess."

He took a while to recover a basic sense of orientation. Then, with some curiosity, he probed Lucius's mind for weaknesses. If Lady McGillivray really knew Legilimency, there was a certain likeliness that she would detect any kind of attempt on his side to perform Occlumency by proxy – and that she would know who had performed it (the guess work involved could have been done by a three-year-old). In any case, Occlumency was said to be useless against Evicimency attacks, and Severus found it far more likely that Lucius would be subjected to one of those.

He did find what he was looking for, however, not even needing a voiceless Legilimens to uncover what permeated Lucius's thoughts these days in terms of which authority to bend to. Purebloods were easy that way. The absence of a Dark Lord to look up to had to be filled with a new entity, else they went insane. And Severus, who had shown the same tendencies without the rest of the "privilege of a pureblood household" package, knew what it meant – that there, the feelings Lucius Malfoy harboured for Lady Warrington-Selwyn these days…


	12. Lucius's Fate

**_Trigemina Scrofa Shunpike: “Basic Mind Magic in 101 Easy Steps – Working by Proxy”_ **

_For the well-trained witch or wizard it is possible to grant a fellow human being some insight into the field of mind-magic by allowing them to participate in the experience. If a mutual understanding can be reached, the untrained person can allow the mind magician access by proxy, which, if worked in the area of Evicimency, is laughingly called ‘being possessed’. Not so laughingly, of course, if this happens without the untrained person’s consent. Legilimency by proxy can be an exhilarating experience and is used for training purposes sometimes to allow the aspiring Legilimens to experience actual penetration before they have the means to do so themselves._

_The most simple forms of proxy work in this field are wide-range protection through the closing of another person’s mind (the incantation being ‘Occlumaccess’) and camouflaged erasure attacks by means of Obliviation._

_Scholars be reminded that this kind of activity used on an unsuspecting person, is still illegal and, needless to say, extremely dangerous. The witch or wizard performing the mind-magic will share their chosen partner’s experiences for as long as the magic is upheld. Because of their specific nature, especially proxy magic in the field of Occlumency tends to be ignored and then forgotten after some time. It is the casting magician’s duty to remind their chosen partner on a continuous basis that they are ‘not alone in their own head’, so to speak._

_~*~_

She had never possessed any taste, of course, but this particular kind of decoration seemed gloomy even for her. While descending the staircase in search of Severus, Lucius had barely noticed the green tapestry with its occasional outburst of tartan lining or, worse, an entirely area of black, red and green – more tartan. For whatever reason anyone might wish to make this particular colour pattern their personal label was completely beyond the Malfoy.

He returned to the parlour rather less enthusiastically than before. It was not much that he had found out down in the lady’s dungeons, and Severus’s defences – well, they had their drawbacks. It was incredibly hard to concentrate when someone else’s magic lingered in your mind, especially if you had only just now decided that you would trust them again – to this degree. But Lucius knew the Snape like a brother. He was used to making powerful friends, and he had nothing to lose. The reason he had likely struck the bargain with his old friend Lucius was that he expected an alliance under new leadership, so to speak. A renewed companionship in the dawn of the new age – where killing had gone out of fashion again and political leaders fashioned themselves more stylish. Essentially, of course, what had the Dark Lord ever shown but your average half-blood’s lack in taste and style?

“I am pleased to see that you did not get lost,” said the lady upon his return. A reprimand as much as barely concealed mockery, he knew. Could she guess that he had met Severus on his way to ‘the bathroom’, or that the two of them had made friends again so quickly?

“My apologies,” he said. “I did turn round the wrong corner at some point, it seems.”

“And,” replied Vesta McGillivray sternly, “have you made your decision?”

Lucius frowned. “Regarding what?”

“Regarding your loyalties,” said the lady thinly, playing with her wand as though needing something with which to occupy her ever restless hands. “I daresay this is where we left off.”

“Your memory is better than mine,” said the Malfoy meekly. “I have indeed been thinking about the question of whether or not to give you any promises I might not be able to keep. Could you define the parameters of a possible allegiance again?”

The lady’s smile became incredibly thin. Lucius thought she looked a little like his own mother the day he had revealed to her his intentions of marrying the youngest of the Black girls instead of her older sister. Quite like her, in fact.

“Let me redefine the nature of this discussion,” she then said slowly, pointedly interrupting her elegant movements and holding her wand quite still, its tip pointing in his direction – not quite accidentally, perhaps. “You and me are not discussing a possible alliance between two equal partners today, young Malfoy. We are discussing your position in society and where your decisions can lead you if you act wisely. Do you understand the difference?”

Lucius narrowed his eyes, but did not speak.

“I am offering you,” continued Vesta McGillivray, visibly unperturbed, “a position in the society we will call ours once the rotting remains of the last war have been properly cleared away. I am offering you a position other than ‘Death Eater’ or, if you please, ‘former Death Eater’, which is what you and your friends are regarded as at the present time. You will agree with me that this is a stigma no one would wish to carry into an era ruled by the likes of Kingsley Shacklebolt and controlled by the likes of my dear and old friend Meredith Robertson.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Lucius through grit teeth. “Whether that era comes, I mean. The stakes are still unclear, as far as I can see it.”

“Yes, but that is the very problem, my dear,” said Vesta McGillivray softly, “you cannot, in fact, see very far from your point of view. You have never taken much of an interest in pureblood society – no, don’t interrupt me. I do not count the gatherings of your little friends, all of them as old as my post-pubescent granddaughter, as societal events. You must understand, and this is important, that the person you called ‘the Dark Lord’ was, in fact, never one of us, never actually part of pureblood society. Oh, he may be related to Salazar Slytherin. But let’s not overestimate the power of a family whose greatest achievement in over a thousand years consisted in the opening of an educational establishment. I need not remind you, I hope, of what the Potter heir made public after the disastrous ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ as some like to call it? That you pledged your loyalty to a Half-blood of all possible options?”

“He was incredibly powerful,” said Lucius angrily. He got impatient with figures of authority rather quickly, he knew. Vesta McGillivray had a way of speaking, which made him want to squeeze her against the wall and right into her tartan tapestry. But of course he also knew that there was truth in what she said. In wizarding society, as most witches and wizards saw it, age, apart from blood status, was the dominating factor that determined who got a say in any kind of political issue. It was one thing the Death Eater gatherings had been all about before the Dark Lord had started to obsess about immortality. They, that is Bellatrix and he and Rastaban and some others had wanted the chance to act – and they had seized it, even if, as the lady rightly assessed, the whole matter had seemed ridiculous to the generation of their parents.

Something in his head was throbbing and Lucius felt the strong urge to put one hand to his temple and rub. Severus was messing around, in all likelihood, and possibly messing up. He had mentioned a magical accident, after all. Who knew whether or not his theurgic system had suffered in the process? It was time to try and get out, he decided.

“I do not wish to bore you with too many details with regard to my generation’s perspective,” said Vesta McGillivray now, not indicating whether or not she was mocking him. “I merely wish to emphasise that your starting point is not equal to mine. When I propose a stopping of all wilfully aggressive activity with regard to political affairs between the two of us, I am not proposing a truce or even an armistice. I am offering you a place in my good book, so to speak, out of respect for your parents, your grandparents, and for the man you might become in thirty or forty years, once you are no longer pursuing your very unreasonable, juvenile goal of taking control over a situation into which you do not have any insight.”

Lucius stared at her. “But you do?”

“I,” said the lady slowly, “have been a member of the Knitting Fates Society for over sixty years. I daresay there is nothing I need to add.”

Lucius felt his blood beginning to boil. “We cannot come to an agreement then,” he said coldly. “You will insist that age is all that matters in politics, while I work towards a future in which this is not the case. A future in which I can have a say in matters and will not be silenced on the grounds of some shortage in years. Your generation’s views have fuelled the Death Eaters’ deeds in the war, Mistress McGillivray, and you know it. If it is dishonourable to call yourself a former Death Eater now, that is because your generation is two-faced and lethargic when it comes to actually getting things done! You will speak of the danger presented by the mixing with Muggleborns, yet you will not stand up against it, will not fight for your beliefs. And as soon as there is a Minister for Magic who holds the view that the Act of Secrecy is worth more than pureblood life, you will grovel at their feet and do their bidding, never mind your own convictions.”

The lady frowned. If Lucius had not known any better, he would have thought she was a little amused.

“Young Malfoy,” she said, leaning back in her chair a little to watch him from a small yet threatening distance, “how very like your mother you are. She once brought forth the same worries, though her hands were bound, like yours, and even a little more, because our society has never been very good with openly powerful witches.”

A sudden thought seemed to strike her and she sat up straight in her chair. Lucius mirrored her, intuitively, thinking that she had probably finally realised a problem with her generation’s approach to actual politics.

“Tell me,” she then said, her wand still as before, “whom would you regard as the most powerful entity to date?”

Lucius considered this.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he then said, “despite the revival of the colonial outposts and the remains of the old wizarding army.”

“Ah.” This seemed to clarify something in the eyes of Vesta McGillivray, who pondered for a moment and then said, “And who, would you say, provides the most promising concept for our society’s future?”

This time, Lucius needed no time to think.

“Diana Warrington-Selwyn.”

Vesta McGillivray frowned. She thought about this for a moment and then nodded.

“Well, I must say this makes sense. It explains your recent decisions, it explains your reluctance towards me, and, most of all, it explains your sudden interest in winning Severus Snape back as an ally.”

Something in Lucius’s stomach plummeted heavily. How on earth…

“You will be in dire need of someone who knows his way around in the field of mind magic, if you intend to play by Diana Warrington-Selwyn’s rules,” Vesta McGillivray informed him factually, not indicating that she was aware of his inner turmoil. “And you will need someone close enough to me to provide you with information. All this assuming, of course, that you consider the two of us to be enemies.”

“How do you know?” Lucius burst out, angry at his own automatic deference towards her, angry at being automatically ‘young Malfoy’ whenever she wanted it. “How can you possibly have broken the defence?”

“Which defence?” asked the lady softly. She was mocking him still. Lucius clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

“Severus’s defence,” he then said, going for a direct approach. “How can you see this kind of information when it is his Occlumency that protects my thoughts?”

“It is?” said the lady, eyebrows raised. “How utterly fascinating. Well, without wishing to give you any mistaken thoughts of what I could do if I wished, I have to say that, in this case, my assumptions were born from logical deduction rather than crude mind-reading, if you’ll forgive my terminology… young Snape will call it differently, of course, being one who works at a much more advanced level in these matters than I wish to. And you will excuse my saying that your loyalty to Diana did not pass by entirely unnoticed either. As I say, for some inconceivable reason you seem to be under the impression that Diana and I are no longer best friends, as we have always been.”

Lucius did not reply. His entire position, his plans and his loyalties seemed an open book to the lady, who now smiled sweetly and offered him a biscuit from a jar on the table. Angrily, he took one, as pureblood custom required. Where in the name of Merlin had she got her information? Had Severus lined up his best friend’s secrets neatly in a row to be perused by his most stubborn social enemy? It seemed the most plausible option of all. Severus was a born double-crosser and he would betray you in a heartbeat if it was in his own interest. Lucius had known this and yet – for a moment they had been like they had used to be, one in magic, bound by the rules of spell casting, tied by the invisible bond that linked two wizards one of whom had saved the life of the other (or, in their case, vice versa). For a moment, he had considered Severus his friend again and seen Vesta McGillivray as their common enemy.

Whatever the truth – he had to speak to Severus. The matter had to be settled once and for all, for better or for worse…

“Let us discuss your friend for a moment,” said Vesta McGillivray sweetly now. “I can see why you want to align yourself with Diana Warrington-Selwyn and I am not opposed to it at all. But you have to be aware that, due to the present situation, young Snape is entirely in my hands, which means that having him on your side means stepping on my territory. And I oversee my territory very closely, as you might imagine. Let me tell you how I think you can make yourself useful…”

 

Down in the cellar, a very focused former professor of Potions was suddenly in a great hurry to get upstairs and speak to Morgana.

 


	13. Quick Thinking

**Cuthbert Binns: “…regarding your question on what I know about your family history.” In: _Collected Letters_ – Part IV**

_There is indeed a certain amount of knowledge, which might be inaccessible to you, since you did not, in fact, grow up in a pureblood household. I would not necessarily call this a loss, but it diminishes your understanding of the ways Purebloods’ minds work. With regard to marriage vs. romantic love, for instance, or anything relating to the wizarding army. You will have noticed that, even today, the most traditional pureblood lines’ sons still grow up in the awareness that they might be obliged to leave their home and live in Africa for an extended period of time at some point. It is quite tragic, really, how hard it is to get this kind of thought out of people’s heads._

_But the differences go even further. Ever since the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, our society has been so secluded, so cut off from developments in the Muggle world that not only technological means have developed without our awareness, but also mindsets in terms of domestic life and family issues. You will be aware, for example, that purebloods regard each other as marriageable even when they have grown up with each other as half-siblings. In the same manner, Muggleborns have traditionally had the chance of ‘working their way up’, so to speak, through great talent, and, of course, once they married into a pureblood line. It was only in recent years and decades that this tradition has given way to a more… dare I say ‘specist’ approach. You-Know-Who’s take on Muggleborns in particular was unusually cruel, even for a halfblood. (Halfbloods have traditionally had more to lose within the blood hierarchy than Purebloods or Muggleborns, so naturally they tend to be the most fanatic upholders of said hierarchy.) As we speak (or write, rather) our society is returning to more moderate ways. So, while I realise you were asking about past issues, I am happy to be able to promise you that your future may look very bright indeed, especially if you have any intentions of marrying a pureblood. But I am digressing again…_

 

~*~

The currently blue-and-brown-haired witch looked a little surprised when Severus ripped the door open with some force, though not particularly bothered, which transpired through her not letting go of Toke’s wrists. Nor did she apparently think it necessary to re-button his robes – something he was currently unable to do for himself. For a fraction of a second, Severus considered just turning around and leaving again, but eventually he closed the door behind himself from the inside, thinking that, while he would have preferred to remain ignorant of the details of Morgana’s and Toke’s sex life, the actual setting in itself held no surprise for him.

“Morgana, I need to speak to you.”

“Kinda busy here. Can’t it wait?”

“I am afraid not, otherwise I’d have waited.” Severus sneered. “Toke, if you knew how pathetic you currently look, you would cease to find this arousing.”

The ensuing struggle was, if nothing else, entertaining to watch.

“Lemmegothatsmyheadofhouseidontwannabeseenlikethis!” against “Shut up, Toksey, and don’t destroy my work!” Severus almost wished he had more time to spare.

“I require your assistance again,” he told Morgana, ignoring Toke’s valiant struggle. “Yours too,” he nodded at the young nurse, “once you regain some of your dignity.”

Morgana gave a long and pronounced sigh of exasperation and then lifted herself up from her boyfriend, making Toke curl his toes and wriggle around on the floor in an effort to disentangle himself from his bonds.

“I require,” said Severus impatiently, “assistance with and company for a journey to Africa.”

The two lovers stopped in mid-movement. Morgana produced a small snort of disbelief, while Toke merely rubbed his wrists. They were so young, Severus suddenly realised. Toke, certainly, and Morgana, the pureblood offspring with the development delay of about twenty years… he perceived them as young. Which meant, of course, that he was old. And wise.

Morgana scratched her head now, looking confused and a little disbelieving.

“You want what?”

“I need to visit Minerva in Africa. It is urgent. And I need the two of you to keep me company. So as to prevent any, ah, _accidents_ that might occur.”

“You could just ask mum to drop by you know,” Morgana said slowly. “Wouldn’t that be a lot easier and less dangerous and stuff?”

“It is impossible for me to contact her without letting the Ministry know about it,” said Severus tensely. “I thought about it, obviously, but whichever simple way I choose to make contact, floo or owl or Patronus, the magic will be detected.”

“I could do it,” offered the young witch. “There is no harm in a daughter asking to speak to her mother in the privacy of their manor.”

Severus shook his head. “I need to speak to her myself – _outside_ this building.”

“Why outside?!”

Because your grandmother will want an answer as to why I am suddenly healthy enough again for mind-magic as soon as her meeting with Lucius is officially over, thought Severus, and because Lucius is sure I betrayed him and might get the chance for a detour through the manor again and Merlin help me if I do not succeed in leaving this building by then.

“Because I intend to correct Minerva’s apparent impression that I am somehow too weak to stand up for and protect myself,” he replied firmly, glaring at his best friend’s daughter in order to discourage any backtalk.

“But you _are_ ,” Toke interceded.

“I most certainly am not!” said Severus sharply, turning on the young nurse. “Minerva doesn’t seem to understand that, while the time-turner is a very good way for me to recover at a quick pace, I am not bound to this house by means of an incantation or a curse – I am not completely incapacitated by this accident either.”

“But you were, initially,” Toke volunteered. “And you may be again, if you aren’t careful.”

Severus shot him a look of pure venom. “The _point I am trying to make_ is that Minerva is not supposed to think I cannot get by without her help!” he said sharply. “What I am about to tell her is too important – it is vital that she should see me as I am – as who I _really_ am. And that is not some pathetic war survivor who hides out at his friend’s place because he is too weak to face the real world and fight.”

“But that is the truth,” countered Morgana. “You live here because else you would die!”

“It is _not_ the truth!” snarled Severus angrily, feeling his fists clench in his pockets, around his wand. “I can perform magic! I can survive outside for a long period of time, if no heavy magic crosses my path! I have mastered various sixth year spells decades earlier than the healers predicted! I am practically healthy! The only thing incapacitating me is everyone’s belief that I am some sort of weak and pathetic wet towel!”

Toke buried his hands in his pockets. It was clear that Severus’s words were having an effect. Good. That meant Slytherin logic was kicking in. Of all people, a current or recent Slytherin student would be able to understand what it felt like to be the victim of everyone’s bad opinions.

“I need to prove to Minerva that I am stronger than she thinks,” he said, a little calmer, more reasonably, trying to think of ways that would make Morgana do his bidding. “Is that such an alien concept to you? Surely she underestimated _you_ from time to time in your youth?”

Morgana thought for a while, and then shrugged. “I don’t see why you would want to change her opinion of you,” she said eventually, sounding more pensive than seemed appropriate in this situation – and very out of character for her. “It’s not as though she doesn’t like you as you are.”

“ _I_ don’t like who she _thinks_ I am,” Severus said firmly. “You must realise that I want her to see me in the best possible light.”

“As a strong and manly man man?” Morgana grinned. Severus thought that he had never hated her more than this.

“As a healthy individual, fully capable of making autonomous decisions,” he said through grit teeth. “I want her to…” he hesitated, a thousand thoughts and intentions competing in his mind. “You see,” he then said tensely, not quite meeting either of their gazes, “I want to tell her something private. Something to do with… ah, well… with the incident you witnessed the other day.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” said Morgana coldly, her arms crossed. (Why did she have to be so dim?) “What incident?”

Severus felt his eyes narrow. Toke, on the other hand, suddenly seemed to understand. He approached Morgana and whispered something in her ear, which made her flush and give Severus a long and disbelieving stare.

“ _That_ incident?”

Severus crossed his arms. “As I said,” he stated coldly, regretting his chosen strategic course already.

Suddenly, Morgana was very close and, inexplicably, holding fast on to the collar of his robes. “What _exactly_ do you want to tell her?”

Severus, whose hand had automatically flown out of his pockets, his wand firmly clasped between five shaking fingers, poked it deeply into Morgana’s side, who took no notice of it. Instantly, knowing that this degree of confrontation would get him nowhere, he then permitted himself a moment to calm down. Here was a child who was worried and confused, he told himself, nothing more underneath all the layers of impertinence.

“Let go,” he said through grit teeth. “I refuse to answer questions of this nature under these conditions. What I want to tell Minerva is entirely private.”

“If you _ever_ hurt her feelings,” said Morgana threateningly, “I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to the Boggarts in the attic!”

Severus attempted to push her away, politely, and failed. He pushed a little harder, thinking that this was the most reasonable way of dealing with the situation – and failed. Morgana continued to hold on to his robes, looking down at his hands, which were grabbing her arms with all might now, trying to push her away – in vain. Unthinkable, really, that his bodily strength should be as pathetic as this, Severus thought, and pulled out his wand again.

“Get away from me. This instant!”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed, but she let go eventually, not moving very far away, her eyes fixating the tip of his wand.

“Don’t do that,” she said defensively. “It’s not nice to point your wand at people you like.”

“I don’t like you,” Severus said automatically. Whether or not this statement was true would have to remain unevaluated. He lowered his wand nevertheless, taking a step back so as to increase the distance between them. Morgana did not fail to notice it.

“What d’you wanna tell mum?” she said, more quietly than before. “Please tell me. I really just want to know so I can keep you from hurting her if I have to.”

Severus hesitated, then put away his wand, trying to look reasonable.

“If you must know,” he said coldly, the familiar non-committal coldness returning to his voice, “I considered all options and think that it would be beneficial to both of us if I asked for her hand in marriage. And I want Minerva to know I am not merely asking so as to ensure my continued protection by the premises and the time-turner, so I will have to give her a demonstration of how much of my strength has already returned.”

Morgana could not answer. She just stood and stared while Toke shifted nervously, from one foot to the other, chewing his fingernails in what seemed to be agitation.

“Marry?” he said uneasily, “Really?”

“I have been thinking about this for some time,” said Severus reasonably, because he had, in a way, had he not? “It seems the obvious thing to ask. She is not part of society, she will not have to consider my blood status, all that counts is…” he hesitated, just for a second, allowing his concentration to focus on some of Morgana’s most obvious thoughts on the matter, “…our happiness,” he then concluded. “I believe that Minerva and I would make, ah, a very happily married couple.”

And as an added bonus, I’ll be alive, he added in his mind. Living and bound to society by the magic of marriage. Now he came to think of it, what could be safer? Now that the thought was spoken aloud, in the wake of the kiss on the lawn, why had the thought seemed so unthinkable beforehand? Suddenly, he wondered why he had despised the idea for so long. Former loyalties did not have to be broken through a mere society marriage, surely? And that would be all they would have – a society wedding. To appease Minerva’s mother and to save him, Severus, from savage murder through his former allies – or his former best friend.

He watched Morgana intently, who seemed to be fighting an inner struggle. Severus noticed that she was avoiding Toke’s gaze, but he also noticed that his words had hit a nerve. The young witch placed great importance on her mother’s happiness, and he had interpreted her thoughts correctly in that she thought her mother would appreciate a marriage proposal, no matter whether she accepted it in the end or not. He had also seen correctly, of course, that Morgana believed in love stories. And that she wanted to believe in this particular love story with every fibre of her being. Quietly, she picked up a piece of clothing from one of the armchairs and sunk into it, obviously lost in thoughts.

“You mean it?” she then asked without looking at him, after a long and awkward silence in which Toke took what turned out to be his coat and bound it around his waist.

“I do.”

“You being honest now? Not just saying this to make us come with you on another ego-trip into the outside world, proving that you can survive without the time-turner?”

“My word as a teacher.”

“You are no longer a teacher,” she said sharply, now looking.

“Your boyfriend seems to think differently.”

Toke flushed and hid his hands in his armpits.

“You are no longer a teacher, whatever my boyfriend thinks,” said Morgana reasonably, still avoiding Toke’s gaze, but meeting Severus’s, less aggressively than before, seeming almost a little melancholic.

“Very well,” replied Severus with some impatience, unsure what to make of her sudden change of mood, “I’ll give you my word as a Snape.”

There was a short silence in which Morgana looked very solemn and Toke looked as though he was tempted to laugh. Morgana got up again.

“I see,” she said seriously. “How do you want to get to Africa then? And when?”

Severus closed his eyes, just for a second.

“Broomstick,” he then said, “departing tonight – now, in fact.”

 


	14. In the Air

**_Hamish McGillivray: “Blood Purity – The Delusion of A Family”_ ** **_– Excerpt 2: Wizarding Marriage_ **

_Wizarding marriage laws have changed greatly since the nineteen-hundreds. Various security spells, introduced mainly in the second half of the 20th century, ensure that married couples these days cannot aim destructive magic at each other without their wands showing a similar reaction as twin wands do during Priori Incantatem. In addition, the traditional requirement of the bride and the groom’s parents making an Unbreakable Vow to secure their children’s future well-being has been on the decline from the 1950s onward. It was found that the wording of the vow could not be formulated unambiguously and that, according to Murphy’s Magical Law, the vow “interpreted” people’s words randomly to everyone’s disadvantage. Incidentally, many scholars have pledged to outlaw this incantation entirely, but the process of making the “Unbreakable” Vow “Unforgivable”, too, has never quite caught the attention of the wizarding world’s political leaders, owing to the non-transparency of our Ministry’s bureaucratic system, the details of which I shall discuss in a later part of this book._

~*~

It looked as though a storm was about to come up. Ever bigger clouds were darkening the otherwise miserably white sky, and the air was dotted with tiny wet drops, not enough to constitute actual rain, but more than simple fog and definitely more than what was comfortable when you were sitting on a broomstick with a twenty-hour flight through the cold darkness in front of you.

“This is _batshit insane_!” screamed the high-pitched voice of Livius Toke through the upcoming sound of the approaching gale. “Have you any idea how cold I am?”

“He hasn’t been outside for weeks!” Morgana shouted with excited laughter. She looked extremely happy to be outside on a broomstick, whatever the weather conditions. “How was he supposed to know?”

Severus, still immersed in a lingering sensation of tension and queasiness said nothing at first, and then, when the manor was but a small speck of grey on a quickly darkening horizon, managed a retort: “I am told the climate gets warmer as you approach the equator.”

“Not up here,” Toke snapped. His words were lost in the wind and the rain, but because he was fairly close now, Severus managed to read the nurse’s quivering lips and even caught a glimpse of a picture behind Toke’s blue eyes, of a very lonely nurse on a very lonely broom, having been turned into a flying icicle. The boy seemed tempted to turn around and fly back home any moment, as, indeed, did Morgana, despite her excitement.

“I’m warming up to the idea of warming up again,” she stated when they had been flying for several more minutes. “Like, in my own bed, with a cup of tea in my hands. Severus, I think I changed my mind. This is madness! I mean, _I_ _like_ flying, as opposed to you two, and I am _good_ at flying, as opposed to you two, but I’m not looking forward to taking this journey. Let’s go by train!”

“Forget it!” snapped Severus indignantly, refusing to lower his speed as the other two had. “I refuse to accept your mutiny! Both of you promised to accompany me on this trip! And you,” he glared back at Toke, “are my nurse. It is your duty to make sure that I cannot come to any harm.”

His words had the opposite of the intended effect. Toke came to a soundlessly screeching halt in mid-air. Reluctantly, Morgana did the same.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“I think you are bloody right!” shouted Toke angrily, his voice getting even higher with agitation. “I just realised what I am doing here, accompanying my patient on a potentially life-threatening trip away from the stabilising force of the time-turner. Wizarding nurses have to take the Hippocratic Oath, you know! I can’t possibly follow through with this!”

“I _shall_ go,” stated Severus from a few feet away, having finally turned around his broom. He hovered closer, his expression stale and cold as the ice-layer on Morgana’s glasses. “I shall continue this journey whatever you say and whatever the cost – if only to get away from here…”

And there it was, the truth, sneakily wrapped into a hasty side-remark. He was really losing his touch. Under the Dark Lord, this kind of slip could have resulted in a rather unpleasant and painful kind of death. Then again, he thought, he had been through death and there were worse things than snake bites.

“What do you mean to get away?” asked Morgana now. “No place is as safe as McGillivray Manor.”

“Until a Malfoy finds a way to sneak in,” Severus retorted sharply, struggling to keep his broom steady in the increasing rain. “He has thwarted your oh-so-unbreakable security system by getting into your grandmother’s good graces – as, I believe, is the preferred tactic of my new set of mortal enemies. I found out what is happening and I refuse to be part of it!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Toke, very alert. The rain was lashing against his round, white face and he looked younger again than he actually was, much like he had in Hogwarts’s steam-filled Potions classroom. Morgana, too, was flying closer now, to hear.

“Lady McGillivray and her guest are having a battle of minds,” Severus snarled. “Both are bluffing, both have not much to lose, except for me. I am the prize in a fight in which I am not allowed to participate.”

“Rubbish,” called Morgana, steadying herself against a gust of wind. “Lucius Malfoy isn’t even on grandma’s radar! She might decide to give him the _feeling_ that they are having a battle of minds or whatever, but I’m telling you, she never listens to youngsters! Ever!”

“There is a first time for everything,” Toke threw in, shoving a wet strand of blond hair out of his face with difficulty. “Times are changing, Morgana.”

“Not enough, though!” called Severus impatiently, and then, to Morgana, “Your grandmother won’t take Lucius seriously until he starts murdering people again, and Lucius has found a dangerous ally among those who have no problem with shedding precious wizarding blood! Have you not seen him knitting his social net recently?”

Morgana's brow wrinkled. “No!” she called. “I don’t take an interest in politics, you know that!”

“Well, maybe it’s about time you started!” Severus called back, relieved to get this off his chest. “Since it is on your doorstep! _She_ is on your doorstep, that is, with one foot inside already!”

Morgana clasped the handle of her broomstick a bit tighter and Toke blanched, although it was impossible to tell if this was just a trick of the last white light vanishing behind the storm clouds. Severus nodded slowly. At least both of them seemed aware of whom they were up against.

“Lady Warrington-Selwyn,” he shouted (unnecessarily, for both Morgana and Toke had come so close that they could hear each other well now, despite the wind and the rain), “is Lucius’s new superior, so to speak. Their views are similar, with the small difference that he lacks social influence and the lady lacks a sufficient number of followers to act on her beliefs. Sounds familiar? Thought so! And your grandmother is fuelling the fire by entrusting Lucius with information he really should not have.”

“Such as?” This was Morgana.

“The knowledge that I live!” shouted Severus, not entirely clear why this upset him so much. He had always been a pawn in mightier people’s games. This was not, strictly speaking, a new situation. “She is using me as bait!”

“For what?” This was Toke.

“I have no idea! Is this relevant?”

“Grandma wouldn’t use you as bait for no reason,” said Morgana firmly, “Knowing her reasons is going to tell us what we need to know to protect you!” And then, out of the blue, she turned around. “I’ll go back and talk to her.”

“Don’t!” called Severus quickly. “It is pointless! Your grandmother made it abundantly clear which path she will take, even if it is not entirely clear to me what she intends to achieve by it!”

“I’ll talk to her,” said Morgana stubbornly. “It’s grandma. She doesn’t want to see you harmed, I’m sure of it!”

It was useless. When she was in this mood, Morgana would follow through, no matter the inadequacy of her plans. She would not listen to reason, Severus knew this much by now.

“Please yourself,” he therefore said, turning South once more. “But don’t think for a moment that I’ll join you. I intend to be out of this country before the two of them can finish their little tête-à-tête.”

He was full of tension, panic even. This was not normal. Something in the back of his mind told him to turn around and just do as Morgana and Toke suggested, but when had he ever gained anything from following people’s advice? Had becoming a Death Eater been particularly advantageous? Had Dumbledore survived his own schemes?

“Fine,” snapped Morgana. “Run away, like the Slytherin you are! I’ll let you know when I find out how grandma is planning to protect you better than you ever will!”

They nodded at each other, curtly, and Morgana returned in the direction from which they had come. Severus watched her with a pang of regret. The journey was going to be difficult enough as it was. With Toke and him alone, it would be a nightmare.

“So fierce,” marvelled Toke, looking like a love-sick teenager (which he essentially was, as Severus had to remind himself), confirming his former Head of House’s worst nightmares about what lay ahead. “So determined.”

“Impolite is the word you are looking for,” said Severus sternly. “Now, shut up and follow me. While I doubt that Minerva’s mother is going to allow her meeting to be interrupted, my past experience with Morgana tells me that she all too often gets her will quicker than one would expect.”


	15. M'bwa

Excerpt from “Wizarding History” by Bathilda Bagshot

 _A common saying among our very recent ancestors was that “the sun never sets on the British Wizarding Empire” because its territory, conquered by wizarding invaders of the late 17_ _th_ _century, was so vast that the sun was always shining on at least one of its parts. This is completely nonsensical, of course. By the same logic, one could claim that the darkness of night never used to leave the Empire and I doubt that many contemporaries would have appreciated this approach._

 _The wizarding community followed the Muggle decolonisation movement in the 20_ _th_ _century, but, to the present day, has not quite finished its efforts. For the first time in the history of our separation from the Muggles do we find ourselves in a situation where our history’s tendency to always lag about a century or so behind Muggle history has created an ethically doubtful situation. Wizarding colonisation never came sufficiently or, indeed, satisfyingly to an end, as some claim did Muggle colonisation. The British Wizarding Army was never actually reduced in numbers (though in influence within the Ministry of Magic) and retains the right to use most of the stationary outposts abroad for training purposes. The indigenous people of our remaining colonies have allowed this situation to continue for the sake of peacekeeping and secrecy. It is not clear, however, how much longer these foreign territories will take the continued presence of British wizarding soldiers on their soil, since, of course, Muggle history has not gone unnoticed by the majority of the population._

~*~

There were three men in the tent, standing a little apart from the entrance when Severus and Toke entered.

“Names and ranks?” said the callous voice of the one in the middle, although he was hardly visible behind the two muscle mountains that constituted his two associates’ bodies.

“Livius Toke,” said Toke in a tiny voice. “Civilian.”

Severus threw him his most contemptuous look, but remained silent. He did not have much experience with wizarding soldiers at work, but he had taught every single person in this room and, as a general rule, tended to remember those dim-wits who managed to fail even their Potions OWL exam. He also knew what happened if this kind of person suddenly found themselves in a position of authority towards their former teacher.

“Professor Severus Snape,” he said coolly. “Head of Slytherin.”

“Snape?” the man in charge looked up. He could be no more than twenty or twenty-five years old. Severus was sure he remembered his face.

“Red-Nose Robertson?”

The man’s eyes narrowed instantly. Most soldiers didn’t possess a sense of humour, Robertsons never did.

“Careful, Professor,” he said unpleasantly. “This isn’t Hogwarts – you better think about who you wanna challenge. And the name is Sergeant Crabbe, if you please. Recent marriage.”

Severus nodded curtly. Robertsons married into socially superior pureblood families wherever they could. It was no secret. The name change was a little unconventional, of course. But who would waste their time trying to fathom the intentions of the Crabbe family? And, lucky for him, it seemed, this particular specimen had lost so much contact with his home country that he had not ever heard of his former teacher’s supposed death, which was practical, though not entirely unexpected.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” the sergeant asked now as though reading it from a sheet of paper. “State all your intentions, please.”

“I wish to speak to Minerva McGonagall,” Severus said truthfully. Toke made to interject, but changed his mind.

“The two were found attempting to break into the camp,” said one of the soldiers behind them. He was called Morris, if Severus remembered correctly. Dim-witted, even for a Gryffindor. “According to camp regulations, we have to lock them in overnight.”

“I am quite aware of the regulations,” said the sergeant thinly. “Why would you do such a thing?” he then asked, looking at Toke. The nurse gave him an unhappy, highly apologetic smile.

“Well, we… sort of… we weren’t really sure who was on duty at the moment, and then I had this thought that we mightn’t even get in, and then Professor Snape said…”

“We were pursued by several enemies who attacked us before we reached the camp,” Severus intervened coldly. No need for truth in this situation. The sergeant looked at him, raising one eyebrow very slowly.

“The so-called enemy hasn’t shown himself ever since I arrived at this camp,” he informed the former Potions master, “and that was three years ago.” He scribbled something on a piece of parchment. “In short,” he then continued, “I don’t believe a word. What were you planning to steal?”

“Not steal,” said Severus angrily. “Have you still not learned to listen to your betters? We wish to speak to Minerva McGonagall.”

“That will have to wait,” said the sergeant. “We shall put you in the Western cells, those don’t get as cold as the other ones do during night-time. Tomorrow, we’ll see. Your presence here will be reported, of course.”

Toke heaved a sigh. Severus remained motionless, trying to calculate his options.

“About seeing the Hogwarts representative…”

“Not tonight,” said the sergeant again. He did not seem hostile, for some reason, just bland, as though already worn out by adult life and its daily routine. Toke looked positively adventurous in comparison. “Camp regulations require that we lock you up and write a report before the day is over. I shall inform Professor McGonagall of your arrival, though. Maybe she’ll have time for you tomorrow.”

Severus hesitated for a moment, then relented.

“Thank you,” he said, fully aware why he and the nurse were treated with even this much politeness. The name Snape and the British Wizarding Army went back several generations. He had looked it up, back at the time when these things had still mattered. But of course General Snape had now returned to society’s (that is Vesta McGillivray’s) good graces. It was only a matter of time until people learned that there was not, in fact, a blood relation between him and Severus. Still, for now they were safe.

One of the muscle-mountains took Severus’s arm, steering him towards the exit.

“Good to see you again, Professor Snape,” he said in a small voice without looking down. Severus raised his head, taking in the man’s face for the first time.

“Gregory Goyle!” he exclaimed. A pang of worry came and went again almost at an instant. It did not matter. Each of them would be obliviated before the day was over.

“I… I… I’m glad to see you so, er, well, I mean… _alive_ ,” stammered the Goyle as they were trudging towards the West side of the camp. “People said… you were dead’n stuff.”

“Isn’t it fascinating what people say sometimes,” Severus said sourly. There really was no time for this. Since their original plan of entering the camp undetected had failed, they would have to do a lot of mind-wiping anyway, once he had got hold of Minerva and spoken to her. Luckily, they still had a Plan B, which was in many ways simpler than their original approach.

“You do realise that I am not real, don’t you?” he said as they were approaching the Western barracks. “I am merely a figment of your imagination… a ghost of the past…” And he drew his wand.

Toke choked a shout of warning, but it came too late.

“And you realise,” said Goyle bluntly, though still surprisingly gently, “that the army has been taking prisoners since 1344, right? We know our stuff.”

And he took Severus’s inoperative wand from his former Head of House’s hand, who stared at it in astonishment.

“Rats,” said Toke as the cell door closed behind them. “There goes Plan B.”

Severus turned on him.

“This is your fault, I'm sure!” he said sharply. “Your research has always been sloppy!”

“I didn’t research anything at all!” Toke protested. “I never even had the time! You wanted to ambush tonight, remember? ‘Forget tactics, Toke, we require some hands on action…’? You were the one rushing the whole thing, never listening to my suggestions and all. Also, you were the one alerting the guards.”

“Why didn’t my wand work?” Severus hissed. “My magic can’t possibly have left me this abruptly, can it?”

“Ah, well, it _could have_ ,” Toke mused. “Seeing as you have a very rare magical illness, at least concerning its severity, and I have to tell you that you cannot equate the return of your magical strength or ability with basic hea-a-alth. You don’t want to be doing that. I’m here for your safety, remember? All I’m saying is that you may still be susceptible to other people’s magic and we have no idea to what degre-ouch! Don’t do that! Of course, this could also simply be a protective measure to prevent prisoners from using any magic to break out – come to think of it, that seems the most likely option…”

“Shh,” said Severus, suddenly very alert. “Did you hear that?”

“Someone’s coming,” replied the nurse tensely. “Probably to bring us some food. That’s protocol. Anyway, my wand doesn’t work either, see? _Scourgify!_ It’s probably just as well that they didn’t even bother taking them away at first. I assume that the whole area is enchanted, actually. That you have to be wearing a uniform to get anywhere at all. They like their uniforms they do. Tons of enchantments on them. Yes, I know I’m talking a lot, no need for mockery. I’m nervous. Even though I realise that we’ll probably get out around sunrise tomorrow morning, which isn’t particularly long, considering. But protocol demands…”

“You seem astonishingly familiar with this ‘protocol’,” Severus observed.

“Well, I did the basic training,” said Toke with a shrug. “The army never went entirely out of fashion. They still have four or five recruits each year, mostly from the old families, of course. I’m a Toke, remember?”

Severus considered this for a moment.

“Your position continues to puzzle me,” he said eventually. “I wasn’t aware that the Tokes were one of the traditional pureblood lines – and that you stood in such high regard within society.”

“We’re hated by some, but appreciated by most,” replied Toke simply. “By the right people, that is.”

“When I first met you,” Severus mused, “you appeared to be uninterested in family relations and unintelligent with regard to social events. What changed?”

Toke thought about this for a while.

“Personal ambition,” he then said.

“Meaning what?” said Severus harshly, who had had this kind of evasive talk once too often from purebloods. “Meaning you started taking an interest because you became suddenly ambitious?”

“I’ve always been ambitious,” said Toke, sounding a little hurt. “I didn’t ‘suddenly’ change. You just never saw this side of me because Hogwarts no longer encourages this aspect of society and because you are a teacher and teachers don’t see everything.”

“ _I_ do,” Severus protested, feeling silly even while he said it.

“I have been working towards my current position for years,” said Toke thinly. “I know you don’t realise it, but I actually feel as though I have reached the pinnacle of my career.”

Severus narrowed his eyes and gave the nurse a disbelieving and pointedly intent look. But, of course, Legilimency did not work either on these premises. It was unacceptable.

“The… pinnacle?” he therefore said, settling down on the cell’s only chair. “Of your career as a nurse?”

“I am working under Lady McGillivray’s roof,” said Toke angrily. “It’s more than most people dream of. I know you don’t actually realise how pureblood society works…”

“I know _precisely_ how pureblood society works!” said Severus sharply. “I have been moving in it for many years now!”

“No!” said Toke, his voice suddenly uncharacteristically sharp. “ _You_ know how the _Death Eaters_ work. The Death Eaters, members of the youngest pureblood generation, not a single respectable adult among them, never approved, always frowned upon by anyone who has a trace of influence in society. It was only when You-Know-Who managed to overthrow the Ministry that the older generation became aware of this being a serious matter, not some sort of children’s game. Are you really fool enough to think that our society’s power core has ever lain in the hands of a bunch of wizarding teenagers?”

“Enough!” said Severus harshly, getting up again. “I will not be spoken to like this. Not from you!”

“Apologies!” said Toke heatedly, and it sounded like a trained response more than anything. “I do not wish to insult you, but, like other people, you continue to underestimate me on the grounds of my profession and my personal choices.”

There was a small silence in which both men sized each other up.

“I wouldn’t dream of underestimating someone who willingly takes on Morgana,” said Severus then, suddenly feeling a little more amiable towards the younger man. Toke’s mood remained foul.

“I wish,” he said hoarsely, seizing the chair for himself. “Morgana is Lady McGillivray’s granddaughter. But most of all, she is Minerva McGonagall’s daughter. Which means she is not socially bound to marry. She isn’t bound to do anything. She just does whatever she wants.”

“Well, imagine witches make their own life choices...” Severus said sarcastically, somewhat surprised at the younger man’s views.

“That’s not… it’s not what I…” Toke sighed. The energy seemed to escape his plump body as did the liquid a ripe fruit when it was cut or boiled and he slumped down in his chair, looking very miserable all of a sudden. “It’s just that… because she’s never been part of society, she doesn’t want to enter now. And by marrying, especially by marrying me,” he paused for a second, then shrugged, “well, I guess she would enter by definition. It’s doing what people expect of her that she doesn’t like, you see,” he said in a manner of explaining his misery. Severus watched him motionlessly. Toke heaved another sigh and buried his face in his hands. Then, much to Severus’s astonishment and discomfort, he began to sob.

 


	16. General Disclosure

**Charity Burbage: “In Defence of Muggle-borns – A Pamphlet” cited from:** _**The Daily Prophet** _ **, 7** **th** **May, 1997**

_Let me name some of the families, which produced non-magical offspring, in direct comparison to the list of witches and wizards with non-magical parents to be found in section IV of this pamphlet. So-called “squib children” appeared in the families of_

_**Carrow** _ _– a girl by the name of Alecto (*1986, fate unknown)_

_**Lestrange** _ _– a boy by the name of Cornelius Vindictus (*1959, presumed dead)_

_**Black** _ _– two girls, both named after their mother Druella (*1949 and *1958, each disappeared around the age of eleven)_

_**Yaxley** _ _– two boys and three girls (Samuel *1891, Cygnus *1906, Drusilla *1898, Viviane *1945, and Lydia *1966, fate unknown in all cases)_

_**Gaunt** _ _– a girl by the name of Moraine Emanuela (*1899, fate unknown)_

_**Snape** _ _– one boy called Licinius Tobias (*1883, fate unknown)_

~*~

It had to be the greatest challenge in the world, being locked in with someone you barely knew, yet with whom you nevertheless shared a healthy relationship of overbearing attendant and unwilling patient. Severus had come to slowly drop his initial loathing for the reversed roles he and Toke had found themselves in after the war, having begun to recognize many of Toke's strengths for their actual usefulness – his ability to withstand a healthy dose of eloquent abuse being one of them.

The trouble was, once other forces were added to the mix, upturning the relationship yet again by reducing Toke to a crying heap, things suddenly got a lot more difficult. There was no more room for bantering or snide remarks or any of the things Severus felt he was rather good at in this situation. In such a situation, most people drew from experience Severus didn't feel he had ever had and thus he found himself facing an entirely new problem: how to communicate compassion to someone who thought you disliked them. How did you provide comfort for someone with whom you had only ever shared a battle of wits? Toke had been a dilligent student, not particularly bright for a Slytherin, but also not exceptionally withdrawn, so as to be a cause for worry. He had always been good with people, had always had friends to deal with the emotional side of things. Severus could not remember a single incident that would have called for his intervention as a teacher. Toke had just been Toke, cushioned by his position in society, protected by a small-ish group of true friends. How did you deal with someone who had no protective layer of sarcasm around them but only their stoic honesty and the occasional unexpectedly smart comeback for you?

As Severus stood around awkwardly behind the young nurse, who still held his face in his hands and gave no sign that he was going to bite back his tears any time soon, he went through all the bits of comfort and wisdom his parents had used to convey to him when he had been very little and in need of parental guidance. Both were unsuitable for this situation.

So he began to pace around and eventually made up his mind, placing one pale hand delicately on Toke’s shaking shoulder, making them quiet down at his touch. Severus grimaced and patted the younger man cautiously as he had seen other men do in situations like this. It appeared to be the appropriate gesture. Why oh why hadn’t Morgana come with them? She would have known what to do with this blubbering… well, with this child. He was pureblood, after all, and very undisciplined.

Severus noticed with interest that tension, when boiling inside of you for too long, turned into anger, which, in the case of emotionally discomforting situations, found a channel in his shouting at other people. And the emotional discomfort involved in this situation was more than obvious. Yet, something stopped Severus from shouting. Something told him that Minerva would not have shouted. Something told him that, if he wanted to transcend the old ways that had, at times, got him into life-threatening trouble with the most powerful of his kind, he’d have to start fighting this kind of urge. Of course, this was easier said than done, having spent your youth surrounded by irritable pureblood teenagers and tweenagers and above. People tended to copy unhealthy behavioural patterns, even when it meant mirroring post-pubescent behaviour at its worst. It was very bad for your health.

Toke sighed, swallowed, hickuped and then fell silent. After what seemed an eternity of holding your breath and waiting for the other to stop doing the same, their cell door suddenly opened and a man stepped in. He was outlined by the light of the setting sun and his features covered in complete darkness, but even if he had not secretly expected to meet _him_ in this place all along, Severus would have recognized the general at an instant. Some memories just stuck…

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, sir,” Severus said reasonably, cautiously conscious of the other man’s seniority and blood status. “Young Toke here is recovering from a sudden sneezing attack. Allergic to sand, I believe.”

The soldier took two steps into the cell and closed the door behind him, as was likely protocol. He waved a thick, dark wand (oak, by the look of it) in the direction of the young nurse and a handkerchief appeared, floating a few inches above Toke’s face. The boy sniffed and took it. He looked a little embarrassed now, Severus thought, but also unusually curious.

“Will we be questioned?” he enquired in-between blowing his nose. The general shook his head.

“Nonsense. I am well aware of the reasons for your secrecy, of course. I am here to tell you that the matter has been taken care of. The men were obliviated, the records deleted. The only remaining question is this: what in the name of Merlin possessed you to leave McGillivray Manor?” He looked at Severus enquiringly, whose mind cleared almost on its own accord, reacting instinctively to this kind of focused interest. He felt his thoughts and memories melt into the depth of his subconscious, creating the thick Occlumency layer which had got him through his Death Eater meetings and also certain encounters with Dumbledore at the time.

“The manor… well… I intended to speak to Minerva, actually,” he then said, hacking down each word as though adding pearls to a necklace

“Minerva is busy,” said the general with a frown. “Though I expect her to finish within the hour. What happened to the well-known wizarding tradition of using the floo network for one’s communicative endeavours?”

“Too official,” Toke said before Severus could stop him. The general threw a calculating look, first at the nurse, then at the former Potions master, who suddenly wondered whether the soldier had perhaps already heard the story of Severus’s pretend relation to the pureblood Snape line and, if so, whether he minded.

The older man betrayed no sign of feelings whatsoever. He had to stoop a little to fit into the cell, Severus noted, and his hair showed the first signs of greying. Depending on how pure the Snape-line was, the general was probably in his seventies or early eighties, like Minerva, whose hair had either very stubbornly retained its deeply black colour or – he thought about this for the first time in his life – had been subjected to a dyeing spell.

“I was under the impression,” said the general now, “that you were aware of my presence in this camp?”

“Absolutely,” said Severus quickly, silencing Toke with one brief glare. “We had no intention of hiding our arrival from you, obviously. But others might have got wind…”

“The British Wizarding Army floo network system,” said the general slowly, “is known for its excellence in safety. The ministry has no access to, nor any kind of influence over our communication and travelling networks. Remember that, the next time you are tempted to sneak into a camp without official leave.”

“Will do, sir,” said Severus earnestly, keeping his face carefully void of emotions. “I doubt, however, that we will have any need for this kind of secrecy again, given the circumstances. You see, I came here to talk about something very specific – something of a rather private nature.”

The general’s face remained stony for a small while, but then lightened up a little as though the information had simply taken some time to process.

“Obviously,” he then said. “Of course you will have been informed by now. Well, that makes things a lot easier. I am glad that we can speak openly now…” He broke off and side-glanced at Toke.

“We can,” confirmed Severus. “Toke is aware of my plans. What I intend to do is…”

“I am certain Minerva is already fully informed,” stated the soldier. “Her mother likes to keep her up to date, even if she never fakes any interest.”

Severus gave him a puzzled look. “Oh?”

The general marched towards the cell’s only window and looked out briefly before turning to face them again. He was half lit by the setting sun’s last remaining beams, which made him appear more ominous than he probably realised.

“You understand, of course, that this is not an easy step for me to take,” he then said quietly, his arms crossed, his voice steady, but probing. Severus pretended he knew what the other man was talking about and nodded, whereas Toke scratched his head and looked from one to the other in confusion and bewilderment.

The general stood very upright, his whole posture and expression as detached as before. “Lady McGillivray,” he stated, “knows that my past is not without complications but they do say burdens get lighter as they are shared. You will be delighted to hear, Severus Snape,” he said, sounding somewhat more official than before, if that was at all possible, “that I accepted Lady McGillivray’s proposal of adopting you into my family. I believe it will be to everyone’s benefit, and we can finally do something against this unfortunate rumour concerning the Snape squib line…

Severus gave him a blank stare.

“Adopt… squib line…”

“The _supposed_ squib line,” the general quickly corrected himself. “Obviously, no one really knows if such a family branch really exists, but if that was the case, you would be the end of it. Do you understand? This whole undertaking will put an end to a number of very unpleasant rumours, actually, and among them this stain on the name of my family, which has existed since the generation of my father, the field marshal.”

Severus nodded, completely at a loss. He knew nothing of this proposal, obviously, but it seemed highly inadvisable to ask for details, now that the general was letting on such interesting pieces of information. He exchanged a brief look with Toke, who had risen from his chair, seeming very wide awake all of a sudden and still trying to comprehend.

“A Snape squib line?”

“ _Supposed_ squib line,” repeated the general sharply. “We really can’t believe everything the Burbage girl used to write before her untimely death. She was no practical historian, after all.”

“No,” said Severus, not wanting to be reminded. “She was not very practically minded at all.”

 

When the general left again (“You will stay in here until I have gathered the men for an unscheduled flying drill to get them out of the way, but I’ll see if I can get hold of Minerva for you.”) Severus became aware of Toke staring at him as though they had never before met.

A short silence followed the departure of the soldier and a return to the old order. Toke was the youngster again, while Severus welcomed the return of his role as the boy’s former teacher and mentor. Only that something was different now.

“You are a Snape,” Toke said, his voice trembling with excitement.

“Oh, well observed,” said Severus coldly, still digesting this news, “congratulations. I can see that you have finally reached the intellectual capacity of a Gryffindor First Year.”

“An actual one – a _pureblood_ one, I mean,” said Toke excitedly. “I mean, all your pretence was likely in vain. You were never lying about your blood status! You very likely descended from a branch of the British pureblood family tree, given this very interesting news about this ‘supposed’ Squib line…” You could hear the inverted commas. For some reason, even though he was not actually related to the general, this rubbed Severus the wrong way.

“I very much doubt it,” he said sourly. “You see, just because some elder male makes a statement with a certain conviction doesn’t make it true. – Believe me, I should know. My name is not particularly rare. Other pureblood names exist in the Muggle world. Morris, for example, or Evans… Black… Potter… for a given value of ‘pure’ – I could go on. A coincidence is much more likely than a relation.”

“Just imagine,” Toke said dreamily, “everyone thinking you’re one of them and then it turns out you really are!”

“Livius Toke,” said Severus harshly, aware that the younger man’s excitement might be contagious, “each of the older families has one or more squib lines somewhere in their family tree – except, _I am sure_ , for yours,” he added as the younger man made to protest. “When I researched this matter in my youth, I found no proof that my father’s ancestors were in any way related to the general and his family, convenient though this might have been for me at the time. And anyway, even if there is a link, it may be centuries old and therefore invalid. You said you know how pureblood society works, did you not? What good is a centuries old link going to be?”

Toke shrugged, looking thoughtful.

“The general mentioned his father,” he said slowly, pointedly solemn. “And I know that Vesta McGillivray’s plans usually involve some huge kick-ass magic. I know that history can be undone, family history re-written. I know that your future, everyone’s future, lies in the hands of the Knitting Fates.”

Severus remained quiet for a moment.

“You weren’t _really_ gonna propose to Professor McGonagall, were you?” Toke asked after a moment’s silence. “It was just a cover, right?”

Severus touched the bars of their cell door lightly with the tip of one or two fingers and then gave a slow nod, his mind somewhere entirely else. Let Toke believe what he wanted. He would certainly not be present when he, Severus, made his move.

“I knew that,” Toke mumbled. “You don’t look insanely in love enough for such a rash decision. But I think you two would work well together. You’re very much alike.”

“I am not discussing my love life with you,” said Severus without turning his head. “Not on top of everything else.”

“Do you hate that I know so much about you? Is that why you keep punishing me?”

“You know nothing about me. And I am not punishing you, I am teaching.”

“Teaching? Teaching what?”

“Respect,” said Severus absently. “I’ve done nothing but ever since I became a teacher.”

“You can trust me, you know,” said Toke quietly. “I am no threat for you. Also, I understand you better than you think.”

He was getting persistent. Severus found his hands clasp the smooth, cool iron of the bars. Against his will, he was getting angry again.

“I doubt it,” he said, ignoring all sensations, trying to keep this logical. “It would surprise me if you had any valuable insight into my life at all. Especially since I don't really know if I have much of it myself at the moment. This blasted situation is more confusing than you can even begin to imagine...”

It was dark outside now. Only the shadows of occasionally passing animals could be seen – or _felt_ , rather – at this hour. No soldiers were outside, training, and no one came for food. Toke had been wrong, just as he was wrong in this, and as he had always... Severus stopped. It was not true. Toke was not entirely useless. He was a Slytherin. He was pure-blood. He was socially ambitious. So be it, why not profit from all of this? He turned around.

“ _You_ are the pureblood,” he said, following an instinct. “Would you marry me?”

Toke stared at him, his face completely blank. Embarrassing, Severus thought, to think that he had been an actual Slytherin.

“In _someone else’s_ place,” he added through clenched teeth, “ _obviously_. I am appealing to the self-declared expert on pureblood society, boy. Just in general, how likely do you think it is that a man of my background will actually marry into it?”

Toke’s face changed from puzzlement to relief and finally to genuine concern.

“I should say your chances aren’t too bad. Some things are changing, whatever you think. And society is in need of blood from outside the main branches of the family tree. Not that I should approve, of course. But it is a fact that families are beginning to die out because the pool has become too small. If I was a pureblood father in search for a husband for my daughter, and if I knew she was too closely related to anyone available… I suppose I might look for a halfblood with the appearance and manners of a pureblood.”

“Spoken like a true opportunist,” said Severus slowly. “And suppose you were a pureblood witch, not so closely bound to society’s rules, yet too close to its core to ignore them?”

Toke’s gaze softened a little. “Do you love her?”

“Mind your own business and answer my question!” said Severus harshly. “ _Since_ we’re in here and have nothing else to discuss.”

“The questions are inherently linked,” replied Toke wisely after a moment’s consideration and Severus knew that he was right. He knew that the question of love would stand high on Minerva’s list of priorities, even though he knew, at the same time, that she was likely not in love with him. And how could she be, him being the man he was? However, something became clear to him this very moment, as he was standing in their shared cell in the middle of Africa, a few feet apart from a nurse with whom he was, against all odds, discussing his love life. He would never – _could_ never let Minerva hear the words again that had ruined everything in the first place – back then, after _the incident_ on the manor’s front lawn… words that left his lips quite easily now, in the semi-darkness, with no one but Toke to hear and judge…

“Yes, I love her. Isn’t that obvious?”

“In that case,” came a voice from just beyond the cell door, making Severus jump violently and Toke give a small squeal of surprise, “I have a proposal, Severus.” A figure rose from the floor, changing from cat to human shape smoothly and soundlessly. “And it will not be quite as dubious as my mother’s tend to be.”

 


	17. Minerva, Minerva, Minerva

**Cuthbert Binns: “…regarding your question on what I know about your family history.” In:** _**Collected Letters** _ **– Part V**

_When you began writing to me, young Snape, I assumed that you had a general interest in pureblood history and how it related to your own unfortunate past. Your most recent question, however, puzzles me a little. The specifics of the relationship between Minerva McGonagall née McGillivray and General Caelian Snape is known to me no more than to you or any other member of society. I am a historian, not a private detective. I assume that the general lost interest in his former fiancé after he got married to someone else, as was presumably the case with our Professor McGonagall. So, in answer to your question, there are no records of any attempt to revive their relationship after they had drifted apart. Not on the side of the two people involved, nor by their parents. I assume that Lady Vesta McGillivray declared her daughter socially dead, if you’ll excuse the very personal assumption here, when she declined the husband assigned to her. At the same time, it is to be assumed that the lady kept the option open for Minerva to return from the dead one day. I also assume, since it was Minerva who severed ties, that Field Marshal Brutus Snape simply gave up on the hope of establishing a link with the McGillivray line. His lack of opposition to the general’s involvement with a Longbottom suggests a complete lack of interest in social bonds these days._

_Which brings me to your second question, of course, but, really, I think that you should talk about these things to the people involved. We historians prefer speaking with or about those who died more than a decade or two ago. It comes with our chosen subject, you know._

_As far as I know, Virbia Longbottom died from an illness known as dementia praecox. It occurs rarely within the wizarding world, which is the reason why little research has been put into potions or spells counteracting its detrimental effects. The illness is known to cause hallucinations and can sometimes interact with a person’s theurgic system in a detrimental way. One case involving accidental transportation to the American continent is described by Priscilla Pye in her medical textbook on the many functions of the theurgic system. – A fascinating read, by the way. Poppy has a copy here, should you be interested in paying your old workplace a visit. Incidentally, were you not supposed to have died in the last war? I never knew that you had taken pre-emptive measures. Well done, boy. Very well done indeed._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Cuthbert Binns._

~*~

It took several moments before either Severus or Toke could move again. Toke’s mouth had opened in shock, while Severus quickly reassembled his wits. Both were at a loss at what to say or how to react and Severus had a brief association of his first visit in Minerva’s office, many years ago, with her giving him her first dressing down – one of many in years to come.

_Now, Mr. Snape, I should very much like to hear your reason for soaking your classmate’s textbook in ink._

“Now, Severus, I should very much like to hear your reason for following me to the end of the world.”

Her voice sounded just as it always did, stern but kind, surprised but matter-of-fact. Her thoughts were racing, though. No Legilimency needed to detect that. Especially Gryffindors tended to wear their hearts so openly on their sleeves that it was often unnecessary to resort to magical means to get an insight into their state of mind.

Minerva extracted a rusty key from the pocket of her robes and opened the cell door. Severus felt his body stiffen and straighten up instinctively. His heart had begun hammering for no reason. His friend looked less tired than she had last time he had seen her and more like her teachery self. “Professor McGonagall” more than “Minerva”, he felt warmly, suddenly missing Hogwarts.

“Mr. Toke, I require your help,” said the black-haired witch now, placing the key in the nurse’s hands. “Would you bring this key to General Snape’s tent? He assured me that he needs to carry it on his person at all times, otherwise this constitutes a breech of army protocol. And everyone here is very fond of this protocol, you see.”

Toke gave a nervous nod, looking slightly ill.

“You may wait there for us,” said Minerva kindly, understanding the meaning of his expression. “We won’t be long. Don’t let yourself be seen by any soldiers.”

When the nurse had left, Minerva stepped towards Severus, her hands folded, her face stern.

“We need to have a discussion.”

_And it concerns your school work, which has been less than exemplary lately._

He nodded, swiping the memory away. This really, really was not a time for seeing the teacher in this woman. “I agree.”

“You are,” Minerva stated, looking very much like her mother now, “by and large, a prisoner in my parent’s house, would you agree?”

Severus frowned. “I am here now.”

“You are confined to the manor’s four walls most of the time. Whenever Mr. Toke is not around, it is too dangerous for you to leave the premises, or am I mistaken?”

“I tend to take him along – for safety reasons,” Severus conceded, “but what, if I may…”

“And you are dependent on my parent’s goodwill, that is, by extension, on my friendship.”

Severus’s fists clenched instinctively. Yes, well? So what? There was no need to put it like that. “I fail to see where you are going with this,” he said uncomfortably. He managed to unclench his fists, but instead started to pace up and down the room like a restless dog – or a bat, as he knew students frequently thought. Nonsense, of course, since bats did not usually pace.

“I wish to explain,” said Minerva tensely, “why I behaved the way I did. Recently, that is. I need you to know that it wasn’t out of disdain for your person or for what you told me. I merely… when you told me about your feelings, I assumed that you felt indebted to me and that this might manifest itself in various ways.”

“Such as a declaration of affection?” Severus replied unmovingly. “Unlikely.”

“Severus, you are a Legilimens,” said Minerva, sounding almost reproachful now. “I always knew that this skill of yours would be the first to return. Am I right thinking that it already has?”

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.

_Did you or did you not put that Ashwinder egg into Mr. Black’s bag, Mr. Snape? The truth, please!_

“Yes,” he said. “That is correct.”

“And am I right in thinking that, while you feel indebted to me, you are most worried about imposing yourself on my mother, whom you consider your social superior?”

“Ye-es…” said Severus again, more reluctant this time. He had an inkling where this was going and he did not like it.

“I knew that you would get in close contact with my mother whilst staying under her roof,” said Minerva now, ”especially during my absence. And I felt that some of the things she would say to you – or that you might extract from her mind – might lead to… unexpected decisions on your side. You are aware of what I am talking about, I am sure.”

“You know, then,” whispered Severus, feeling a shudder of unspecified embarrassment running down his spine.

“I know,” said Minerva quietly. “How can I not? It was on my account that my mother took the Unbreakable Vow. It is on my account that she is about to die.”

Severus stared. For the second time today, he was talking cross purposes with someone, and for the second time, they were revealing exceedingly interesting bits of information without realising that he was not, in fact, in possession of this knowledge yet.

“Tell me the wording of the vow,” he then said, hoping that, from her perspective, this was not an illogical request.

Minerva sighed.

“The vow speaks of ‘old age’,” she said. “It is the most irresponsible thing my mother has ever done. I don’t know how much detail you could extract from her memory, but fact is that both her and my father will die if I am not ‘provided for in old age’, as marriage is supposed to guarantee, of course. I never knew. I didn’t think… when I divorced Topaz, you see, I never realised how much obligation a wizarding marriage brings. I didn’t realise that there was a _reason_ why people never separate.”

Severus nodded, comprehension slowly dawning. “Your mother will have a particular interest in seeing you get married then?” he probed.

Minerva sighed again. “I can assure you that, within the last thirty years, she has done all in her power either to get me and Topaz to fall in love with each other again or to set me up with some eligible pureblood bachelor. Most of whom I have taught or whom I have known since I was a toddler, which makes them more like cousins – siblings even. And many of them are closely related to me, of course. It is revolting.”

Another nod, another silence. Severus’s thoughts were racing.

“Severus,” said Minerva tensely, and her voice was so choked that he had to guess parts of her next sentence, “seeing as you appear to have true feelings for me after all… and since I… share… since, I have to say, they are, well, mutual… would you, perhaps, consider a marriage… to save my mother’s life? I… I honestly feel that there is no one else I could sensibly ask.”

And just because she had added this last bit, Severus felt obliged to voice his last remaining concern. “What about the general?”

Minerva gave him a long and perplexed look.

“What on earth makes you think I would want to marry him?”

“You were betrothed,” Severus said quickly, wishing to explain himself. “Professor Binns said you and him… he said your mother…”

“You spoke to Professor Binns?” Minerva interrupted with surprise. “Lately?”

“We have been exchanging letters,” said Severus evasively. “I had a few questions for him.”

_What do you mean it exploded on its own accord?!_

“Do you mean to say you told Professor Binns that you are still alive?” Minerva’s voice sounded shrill and unusually agitated now. The teacher again, more than the person, Severus felt. He put his hands in his pockets and took a small step backwards. It was an instinctive reaction.

“I assumed that he never noticed what was going on in the war. You know how ghosts lose interest in the affairs of the living fairly quickly…”

“Cuthbert Binns has been teaching for twenty-four years after his sudden departure!” said Minerva. “Clearly he is interested in the affairs of the living.”

“Or he just followed his everyday routine, as he did while still among the living,” said Severus sourly. “Which do you think is more likely, given his teaching style? Oh wait – you have never been subjected to it.”

“You are mistaken,” said Minerva quietly. “Cuthbert has been very involved in current political affairs after his death. In his free time, which you ought to know, having been his colleague for fourteen years, the man studies the history of ghost-rights and tries to effect changes regarding their treatment as legal persons within the Ministry of Magic. If Cuthbert Binns thought you were alive, I shouldn’t wonder how Lucius Malfoy got the idea. He will have heard about it on his way to work.”

There was a longer silence now, with some heavy breathing. Severus felt his heart pound against his chest and Minerva looked very worried, her eyes darting from one place to the next and eventually resting on Severus.

“You must fetch Toke and get yourself into the safety of the manor’s time-turner field again,” she pressed forth eventually. “I shall inform Lance and ask his assistance. Can you apparate?”

Severus shook his head. “Broomsticks.”

“Try to have Mr Toke sidelong-apparate you,” said Minerva hoarsely. “Seriously, it seems worth the hazard. And it’s still safer than using a fireplace – under the circumstances. Lucius Malfoy knowing about you is one thing – you two used to be friends, after all. But Cuthbert could have told anyone. We need to get you back to Scotland. Only the manor’s doors and the time-turner field will keep you safe now. Merlin, I realise only now that this is the worst place you could have come to. No wizarding institution these days is as infested with former Death Eaters and their offspring as the wizarding army. Stands to reason, of course. Same basic principle, different leaders.”

Severus did not reply. It would be useless to discuss his reasons for leaving in the first place. She would not agree that the Malfoy’s presence at the manor on the day of his and Toke’s departure constituted the greatest risk at present – she showed the same blind loyalty to her own mother as Morgana did, which made her present observations all the more hilarious, of course. The wizarding world was a strict hierarchy. Always had been. The Death Eaters had never been the great exception. But she would not understand any of this.

When Minerva turned to go and speak to the general, life suddenly returned to Severus’s limbs and he followed her out of the cell door in a hurry. Words were forming in his mouth, but it took quite a while before he had sorted out what he wanted to say – had to say.

“Minerva, I… I do!”

The former deputy headmistress stopped, turned, and frowned.

“I’m sorry, Severus?”

“Well, that there, ah, marriage matter,” Severus said and then faltered. Minerva stared, and then, suddenly, understood.

“You do?”

“I do,” said Severus apprehensively. “Really.”

Luckily, the moment got interrupted by Toke’s arrival from the sergeant’s tent. He would not, Severus thought, have known how to continue from this point. The nurse arrived, and with a few words meant to uphold an embarrassed pretence of normality, Severus and Minerva parted again.

 


	18. Spinner's End

**Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Malfoy Mansion, Wiltshire to his son and heir Draco Lucius Malfoy, Room 1, House 1, Wizarding Student Halls, Uppsala**

_Draco,_

_I have been informed that your studies are going well, despite your initial difficulties of getting used to the language and the people, and that you are in the process of developing true leadership skills. Your study advisor Dr. Svenson tells me that your achievements made her change her mind regarding your potential to become a decent human being, which is commendable, albeit a little impertinent. Uppsala University is the very best of institutions for tertiary wizarding education and I want you to get the most out of it._

_Back home, everything is the same as ever, as it has been for months now. I am making quick progress in rehabilitating the family name. Several new projects promise stability to our funds and Narcissa is working on getting us into the good graces of the Fates again. She is already on very good terms with Lady Warrington-Selwyn, whom I greatly admire._

_Lady McGillivray, like her daughter, is a great nuisance, of course, but the two of us have now come to an agreement concerning the Prince inheritance at any rate. She agrees with me that Eileen Prince never had any claim on her parents’ money (you can hardly call it a fortune, but it is there nevertheless) and that, once her mother is dead, the last heir of that branch will have died, which means that a lot of goods will have to be redistributed. I informed her that I would keep my hands open. Now that Severus Snape is dead, it will mean a greater share for everyone else, of course._

_Ah, and before I forget to mention it again, your mother and I shall visit you for a week at the beginning of June. Don't forget to make arrangements._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Your father._

~*~

The house seemed as silent and dark as ever. For a moment, Severus stood on the doorstep, breathing in the faint smell of dust and old wood with a hint of nostalgia and longing. How many months had it been? He stepped in and closed the door behind himself, not without looking around the neighbourhood once more to make sure no one had followed. Inside, the air was stale and uncomfortable to breathe. It seemed as though no one had lived here for centuries – entirely as intended, of course. The house was safer when it seemed uninhabited, he had always thought, and had therefore placed a small deceptive incantation on the main living area so as to make possible intruders lose any interest and turn around. When you were a normal person, this kind of action made you look paranoid. When you were a teacher at a school full of adolescents with magic wands, this kind of action became your daily routine. In any case, the spell did not seem as life-threatening as he had expected it to be. Good. One more step towards freedom and independence.

Severus marched towards the fireplace, brushing aside a small shudder, and let his palm run over the smooth, marble mantelpiece. A recent addition, designed for and suggestive of pureblood culture. The Dark Lord may have permitted Pettigrew to see his birth house, but Severus had been sure to move as many of his father’s belongings out of the way and to create a stylistic copy of some of his friends’ living rooms – those who did not live in manors or castles, that is. What Spinner’s End lacked in grace and glamorous decoration, he thought, it made up for with a satisfyingly pastoral feel. Not necessarily Muggle (although you had to admit the neighbourhood was a bit of a giveaway) but homely in a “retro” sort of way, as Morgana would probably put it.

Morgana. Toke. Minerva.

Severus sat down at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, staring at the clock above the door, which never apparently never stopped its endless ticking even when left alone for several months. Its monotonous sound had used to drive him up the wall in his youth, having had to sit here for hours, trying to do his homework theoretically – never practically. Never ever with actual magic involved.

Another shudder crept down Severus’s spine as he looked around and he suddenly felt very drained. His escape had been easier than anticipated, apparating here without being seen, without being noticed, without having Toke follow him, had provided no problems at all, the magic had been a little hard to access, but then he had not yet fully recovered. He would be a fool not to realise it. As anticipated, the nurse had not insisted on sidelong apparition, which had given Severus the opportunity to steer himself in a different direction – away from McGillivray Manor. Toke was practical, Severus thought. So obliging. With some students, your influence lasted a lifetime. And there was no way any of them could know what he was up to. They would not have imagined him sneaking off by himself, he knew, unaccompanied by a lifesaving hand, into the direct influence of the main Portkey route…

Severus got up again and started to pace the house, searching the rooms, some of which he had not entered since his mother’s death, and then returned to the ground floor again, several items of personal interest in his hands.

The first was a potions bottle – a vial designed to hold enormously potent liquids, without absorbing any of their strength or cooling them down. His mother had used to work in Potions for some time, Severus knew. This was a remnant of what kind of substances she had worked with. Merely touching it felt as though his blood was beginning to run towards the item and its magic. He quickly put it away.

The second piece was a small box with a few things inside, among them a broad scarf of black wool. It was designed to be worn by a woman, but Severus had used it in winter, when temperatures had dropped so much that he could see ice crystals forming on the inside of his bedroom window. Heating spells had been out of the question, of course, although Severus had begun to use them secretly as soon as he had turned seventeen and got rid of the bloody Trace.

He held the scarf in both hands, letting the coarse fabric glide through his fingers. Twenty-six months. Eileen Prince had died shortly after Dumbledore’s fall from the tower, only less spectacularly, the letter had said – very quietly, within St. Mungo’s four lime-green walls. He had not attended the funeral.

The third item (Severus put the scarf around his neck, purely out of habit) was a Manchester United football shirt. Rows of black and red stared at him in unrelenting memorisation of the evening his father had taken him to London for the first time. Hours of waiting and cheering, rows and rows of excited fans, an almost unbearable tension everywhere, driven to a heated climax by Mike Doyle of West Bromwich first, and then Glyn Pardoe during overtime, allowing for a glorious victory and a discussion-filled ride home the following day with his father opening up as he had done never before and never since…

Not even Minerva McGonagall’s Transfiguration lessons could match the boredom Severus had been subjected to on that day, and again later, through his father’s valiant efforts to ‘make a man’ out of his only son – as he had liked to put it.

He sighed and folded the shirt into a small package, then got up. More restless wandering, more discoveries. An old candleholder, tickets for an undated charity event at the Presbyterian church opposite the street, and a book. A sixties’ children’s book telling of an evil witch being defeated in battle by four children – and a bloody lion. Why was everything always about lions? Severus held the book in his hands for a while and then let it slide into an old bag, the most practical of all items he had been able to retrieve so far. It was exhilarating, somehow, to be rummaging through the remnants of one’s past, especially since there was nothing more important to do, no one aware of where one was…

It took several moments before he became aware of the rapping on the door and even longer until he allowed himself to take notice of it. He checked the time, glanced at his bag again, and sighed.

“Sooner than expected,” he greeted the witch on the doorstep – but contrary to his expectations, he was not looking into the warm eyes of his friend and former colleague Minerva McGonagall, but into her daughter’s lighter ones – and they were blazing with anger.

“Severus Snape!”

“Not so loud! Come in, close the door, feel at home. No magic, please.”

“You idiot!” Morgana raged as she stomped in, kicked the door shut behind her, and grabbed the front of Severus’s robes the moment he opened his mouth to offer her some tea. “I _told_ you what I would do if you hurt her, right? I told you!”

“Hurt?” said Severus in a flabbergasted screech which might have had to do with the fact that a raging lunatic’s hand was cutting off his air supply. “But I…”

“ _You_ told Mum you would _marry_ her!”

“I did. So what?”

“Yet, here you are, running away again!” said Morgana heatedly. “Here you are, packing your things, running off at the first opportunity you get. Probably got scared at the thought of having to follow through, right? The typical Slytherin cowardice breaking through?”

“Hands off my robes,” said Severus quietly, in a pointedly threatening tone. He felt his anger rising, but was somehow too exhausted to fight. As though something was burning deep inside him already, eating up all potential or strength for standing up to this whirlwind of a person. Better treat her like a student and explain in dummy terms, he decided. It’s the safer option.

“I have no intention of running away – or of breaking any promises, if you must know.”

“What are you here for then?” Morgana hissed.

“How did the conversation with your grandmother go?” asked Severus in return. Her irascibility was annoying, but she had inherited her impulsiveness from her mother, of course, so it was only half her fault, in a sense.

“She told me to keep out of this,” Morgana replied, her grip loosening. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“I am not,” said Severus coldly. “I am here because I wanted to fetch a few things. To get ready for the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Morgana paused and looked at him, long and critically. “What, are you saying she actually agreed?”

“Of course she did,” said Severus, permitting a smooth smile to appear on his face. “What did you think? That I made a fool of myself proposing to her in front of a lot of soldiers and then ran off so as to make it seem that I never meant it in the first place?”

“Well…” said Morgana hesitantly.

Severus crossed his arms in pointed slow-motion.

Equally slowly, Morgana’s expression changed into an apologetic grin, causing Severus to turn away from her and sit in his armchair by the fireplace.

“Typical. You continue to underestimate my abilities.”

“My mother’s kinky taste, rather,” retorted the witch. But her face was glowing now, and Severus thought he understood why.

“I intend to return,” he said quietly. “But I’ll… there is something I need to do here.”

“Yeah?” said Morgana, frowning, “like what? Guard the fireplace?”

“It is none of your concern,” said Severus curtly. He looked out of the window. He was not going to get out of this, was he? “If you must know,” he therefore said slowly, thinking while he spoke, “I needed to find something in this house. An item of considerable personal value.”

The next step, he knew, was her asking “What item?” and he would have to come up with an answer. And there was no answer, because there was no reason why he would return to his birth place of all locations instead of apparating back to McGillivray Manor as planned.

“What item?” said Morgana, doing the honours, her gaze gliding over the items Severus had brought downstairs with him. “Oh…” And before he could think of a reply, the witch bent down and picked up the box from which he had previously taken the scarf. His mother’s box. Severus was beyond caring at this point. If she found something, good. That would solve the trouble of having to explain. If she didn’t, well, there was nothing among these things that required hiding, as far as he knew.

He nodded as Morgana looked at him enquiringly, seeking permission to open the box. She did so, eagerly, found another box inside and opened that as well. Then, both of them lost track of what they had been about to say or think because inside the smaller box, there was a ring on a small pillow, looking a little like an heirloom and a little as though it had been ready-made for marriage. The ring was cut in such a way that it looked as though a snake had wound itself around a red stone of gleaming Baltic amber. It was a little showy, Severus thought, but not too much. And, conveniently, exactly right for the purpose of distracting Morgana.

“That’s… beautiful,” said the witch with a strangely choked voice letting her hand glide over the snake’s body. “Is that… is that for mum?”

“Yes,” said Severus firmly and very truthfully. The fact notwithstanding that, until a few seconds ago, he had been unaware of the ring’s existence. “It’s… a wedding gift.”

“She’ll love it,” whispered the young witch. “It’s not just any ring, is it? Is it a family heirloom? Of the Prince family?”

“It is,” confirmed Severus, again truthfully, since the box had been his mother’s and was therefore now rightfully his. He let the ring box’s lid snap shut again and hid it in the pocket of his robes. He would examine it later. “I am glad you like it.”

Morgana rose at a snail’s pace, looking a little embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I… shouldn’t have doubted you,” she said hoarsely. “I mean, not that some piece of jewellery proves you a good choice, for Mum, I mean, but I think you two can really make it work.”

And there it was – the moment in which Severus suddenly realised how much Morgana’s behaviour resembled his own. Under his own roof again, with the smell of times long gone in his nose, Severus suddenly remembered a boy who had desperately hoped for someone to come along and make the hurting go away, though its source could not always be identified. Someone from outside, surely, could heal the wounds that had opened when… well, when? At Morgana’s parents’ divorce? Was this why she was so eager to see her mother find some sort of romantic happiness again? Something in the back of Severus’s mind told him that this was not a good moment to let Morgana know that Minerva's and his marriage considerations had happened primarily for the benefit of Vesta and Hamish McGillivray’s physical safety, despite the undoubtedly high esteem in which they held each other. It was likely far too delicate a topic for her daughter to know about. He was not obliged to mention it. Was he?

Deciding to postpone the decision, Severus instead began to rummage around in his mother’s box again.

“So… are you coming or what?” said Morgana now, puzzled by his turn of focus. “You found what you were looking for, right?”

“Uhm, I suppose,” said Severus slowly, extracting a few pieces of parchment, which appeared to be letters addressed to his mother. “I shall… root around some more, if you don’t mind… gather a few things…”

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!”

Her anger was unexpected. Severus looked up. “Wrong?” he said, in want of another reply.

“You leave the house in the middle of the night and stay away for _ages_ in order to fly to a stupid military camp in the middle of nowhere! You let Toksey apparate home by himself, making him call me, in utter distress, saying that something likely went wrong and you had possibly died. I then manage to convince my ex to help me trace you to this place, she actually manages, despite many difficulties, but you _still_ won’t come home!”

“McGillivray Manor is _not_ my home!” snarled Severus with such sudden force that he took himself by surprise. “It was a refuge, a temporary hide-out to allow me to get healthy again without the outside world interfering. Well, now the outside world _is_ interfering, as you well know! Malfoy found a way in! Next thing we know, the roofs will be burning, the Dark Mark conjured, and someone will be thrown off the building's bloody main tower!!”

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and then, steered perhaps by Spinner’s End’s deeply reminiscent ambiance, grabbed the football shirt from his bag and threw it at the young witch's face with all his might.

The shirt, being of a useless synthetic material, fluttered, changed direction and landed squarely on Morgana's chest. In their surprise, both of them stared at it wordlessly, Severus blinking away the threat of angry tears, Morgana harnessing her shock and hurt into a squeal of astonished delight.

“It's a football shirt!”

“Yeah. It's mine.” His voice was no more than a hiss. Morgana looked up at him, a trace of worry on her face.

“Were you... trying to hurt me with this?”

Severus looked at the fireplace and said nothing for a while.

“It's amazing,” he heard Morgana say after a while, in the marvelling tone that purebloods sometimes got when regarding Muggle artefacts. “So light... so... shiny... can I keep it?”

“No,” said Severus gruffly, snatching it off her. “And no, I didn't.”

“Didn't what?”

Severus wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Didn't intend to hurt you. I got angry. I know what happens when people get angry around here, so I think I was looking for a soft way out. In a way.” Listening to himself, he suddenly felt silly. His face felt wet, with sweat, perhaps, and he wiped his nose again in stubborn anger at the strange situation he had suddenly got himself into. “Stupid habits,” he mumbled cautiously.

“I get that,” Morgana said quietly. “Come on, let's have some tea. We need to talk.”


	19. Falling Fortresses

**Livius Toke – Medical and Health Care Protocol – Patient 24601S**

_ The patient is in good general condition. His medical progress is unusually speedy and his extreme determination to improve his performance appears to have a positive effect on the healing process. His memory continues to be unaffected by the dittany accident, he can perceive other people's magic as a bodily sensation in the area of his most active theurgic nodes in his torso, and he has now developed the ability to connect his own theurgic system to itself when putting his fingertips together. At the moment, he is still unable to work class 3 spells and the proximity of class 2 magical objects produces a strong magical interference, which continues to be a great danger to him. Removal from his current accommodation is not advised. _

~*~

****Twenty minutes later, the two of them were sitting at the kitchen table, an electric kettle providing them with water for tea. Morgana kept watching his very move, Severus noted. And it seemed that she knew how to deal with the situation no better than he did. His words had made no sense to him, at first, but he felt that through them, a web of thoughts had begun to unravel, which had been clogging his mind for the past days and weeks. Indeed, the longer they sat there, silently, watchful of one another and yet each lost in their own thoughts, the more intently Severus felt that he was beginning to realise what had started it all.

Minerva’s position in Africa, her prolonged absences, the gathering at which Lucius to all intents and purposes had found out that he, Severus, was still alive… and then his sudden appearance in the corridor. In the same way that his son Draco had unexpectedly hoodwinked the Hogwarts defences, in the same way that the school’s impenetrable barriers had suddenly been broken, thus had the manor fallen, thus had the time-turner field lost its ability to conceal and protect. And it was irrelevant that Lucius had entered the manor on Lady McGillivray’s invitation. It was his presence, which had caused Severus’s sudden, instinctive reaction. In essence, it was Lady McGillivray’s invitation of Lucius into the manor that had caused Severus’s sudden decision to go for it and just ask Minerva if she wished to marry him. Because, essentially, what could protect him as effectively as a marriage bond to a pureblood line?

The realisation that he had pursued Minerva to the end of the British Wizarding Empire instinctively, only to save his own skin, was unsurprising to Severus. To a certain degree, of course, he had been aware that his actions were not romantically driven. The interesting bit, really, was that it had once again been Vesta McGillivray whose actions had effected the sudden change, and whose actions had now, once more, determined the fate of more than one of them. – Whether they were also _beneficial_ to everyone involved remained to be determined, of course.

“A fitting name,” he mumbled and Morgana looked up, eager to engage in some conversation.

“Whose name?” she asked.

“The Knitting Fates’,” Severus said. “Most people would associate it with handiwork and think it is a pun.”

“It _is_ a pun,” said Morgana with a frown.

“Not in the way I thought,” mumbled Severus. “Or at least a little more multi-layered than I expected. She really knows what she is doing.”

“Why are you talking about my grandmother?” asked Morgana, frowning. She had placed both her hands on the table in front of her, as though intending to appear as serious as her mother. Severus has his arms crossed in automatic defense. When the young witch leaned back to cast a frustrated look out of the window, he let his thumb slide across his left forearm, halting just for a second on the spot where the scar was that had once been his Dark Mark.

“She is a fascinating woman,” he stated vaguely. “Maybe I should ask for _her_ hand in marriage.”

“I know a few people who would mind,” replied Morgana sourly. “My grandfather among them. But she wouldn’t want a Halfblood for a husband anyway.”

“I am sure she couldn’t resist, even if she wanted to,” replied Severus, absently fishing in his pockets for the box. On a whim, he extracted and opened it again.

The ring was gone.

Luckily, Morgana could not see. He quickly shut the lid again, hoping his face had not betrayed his surprise.

“That ring is perfect,” said Morgana quietly, sipping her tea. “For Mum, I mean. It looks like it was made for the two of you. Did you notice that snake being like a symbol for a Slytherin, like you, and the stone… well, sort of lion-coloured in a reddish sort of way… that could be a Gryffindor – like Mum!”

“Lions aren't red,” said Severus simply. “But the symbolism hasn't escaped me.” His thoughts started racing. Where had the bloody thing gone? Had they been imagining its existence? Or was this another of his mother’s foolish experiments – too inconsequential to report to the Ministry, yet too dangerous not to be on one’s guard? Severus suddenly felt as though something was sucking all the energy from his body through his fingertips again and he leaned back in his seat, frowning, allowing the sensation to seep into his conscious. When had he last felt this exhausted…?

“Did you really come here just to fetch this ring?” asked Morgana after a small moment, it seemed, of talking herself into touching the matter. Severus shook his head.

“I believe I lost faith in the safety of your manor… it was Lucius. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand losing a sense of safety,” said Morgana softly. “It’s that bloody war. Uprooted all of us, whether or not we were involved. But you – I’ve been wondering how you’ve been taking it all so calmly.”

Severus shrugged. “I don’t hold with all this chit-chat about one's deepest feelings and impressions. It never changes anything.”

“It gives me strength,” said Morgana. “I’ll admit that the discussion of feelings doesn’t usually have much of an influence on politics or war, but I think it’s no good pretending that politics and especially wars have no influence on your feelings.”

Severus closed his eyes for a second. Her directness wearied him. Did she think he was going to explain himself to her? Did she think he had to?

“I get that you don’t want to go back,” said Morgana suddenly. Severus raised his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Morgana. „And what’s more, I get you not realising it at first. I bet you’re so used to this kind of feeling that you barely notice it when it creeps up, am I right?”

“What kind of… feeling?”

“You know, a lack of safety. Like you don’t know where you belong.”

“Nonsense. I know where I belong.”

“Really? Well, where is your home?”

“Here.”

“Is it?” She looked amused now. “Is your toothbrush here?”

“What? Toothbrush? What are you talking about?”

Morgana grinned. “A toothbrush is a small Muggle item used to clean your teeth before you go to bed. I was so sure you’d know it, but now you mention it, what was I thinking?”

“Shut up! I know what a toothbrush is. But how this is relevant? Home isn’t where your toothbrush is!”

“Home is where the heart is,” said Morgana quietly, sounding uncharacteristically grown up. “Where does your heart lie, Severus Snape?”

There was a short silence.

“That's unusually sappy,” Severus then remarked, “even for you. Sappy and unanswerable.”

“Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind when you hear the word home,” Morgana demanded. Severus scowled.

“Hogwarts.”

“And then?”

“Then nothing,” said Severus defiantly. “Then bad feelings and regret.”

“Regret?”

“And guilt,” mumbled the former Potions master, more to himself now. “Guilt more than anything.”

“Because of the war?”

“Because I let it happen. It doesn’t matter who won the war. Someone will always be in power and suppress someone else. But it is because of me that Hogwarts was taken by the enemy. And that is the worst thing I have done in all my life.”

“Worse than becoming a Death Eater?” Morgana looked a little doubtful.

“Worse than that,” confirmed Severus. “It was Godric’s Hollow all over again. What I was sworn to protect went up in flames.”

Morgana looked at him in surprise. “I never knew you even spent a single day in Godric’s Hollow. Isn’t this house the place where you grew up?”

Severus remained silent for a few moments before saying, slowly, to make this clear to her, but also, more importantly, to himself, “Home is where the heart is. I betrayed my heart – more than once, by the exact same miserable means: failure.”

“We-ell,” said Morgana hesitantly, “I dunno about the taking of Hogwarts, but I know that failure wouldn’t’ve made you become a Death Eater. Took quite a bit more than that, did it?”

“AND WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?”

He had not intended to flare up. Pushing his body upwards, his hands clutching the kitchen table with vehement strength, Severus stared directly into Morgana’s eyes, suddenly, automatically taking in more than her looks. What sprang at him at once, thoughts and feelings, was related to people – to him, to her mother, to her grandparents, and to other people, some of whom he recognised as her old school friends. There were other images, too, but not very strong ones, thankfully. The Potters were nowhere to be seen. She didn’t know. Her words could not have been meant as a jibe. He felt his tension subside a little and took a deep breath.

“I know what you’re doing,” grumbled Morgana uncomfortably. “I can’t feel it, but your eyes are glazing over. Also, your standing around motionlessly, fixated on someone else’s eyes is sort of a giveaway. I don’t like this, by the way. It’s intrusive.”

Severus blinked. The images had not been in focus, certainly not the outcome of intentional Legilimency. But now, they were fading away – ripped apart, in some cases, as though a force stronger than himself was taking them away. The same force, perhaps, that was absorbing all his strength? He had mere seconds to consider this before remembering Morgana, who continued to give him reproachful looks and rub her temples.

“I apologize,” he said civilly, sitting down again. “I was… agitated.”

“Du-uh,” replied Morgana sulkily, but refrained from continuing her teasing. Instead, she put her head on her hands, leaning on the table with her elbows. “You’re gonna come back with me, aren’t you? I’d really miss you if you didn’t.”

Severus raised his eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“We-ell,” said Morgana once more, “let’s say I’d be a little less bored if you turned yourself out. Plus, you have nowhere else to go to, really. And you aren’t the kind of person who can stay on the run for a long time. You need a comfy bed…”

Severus felt his gaze darken.

“…a cup of tea in the morning…”

“I don’t think…”

“…a big library for your perusal, only a few steps away from your very own bedroom, cleaned and aired by a House-Elf…”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t comfortable, but…”

“And a level ten-thousand Potions lab right there, with as many ingredients as your state of health allows…”

“All _right_ , shut up, you win!” said Severus in exasperation. “McGillivray Manor _has_ become something of a home in recent months. But that doesn’t mean I can just return! On the contrary! It just means that, through my actions, yet again, a safe haven has been infiltrated and will be destroyed! It means death and chaos!”

Morgana stared. For a moment, Severus thought she was going to cry. Then he realised that his words had caused the exact opposite. She began to laugh. Via quiet, jerky movements at first, then louder and louder until finally the tension was broken.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re laughing about?” snapped Severus indignantly, though not as angrily as before.

“Listen, _bud_ ,” said Morgana in-between trying to breathe. “I know that you feel very strongly about this, but come _on_! Is that woe-is-me state something of a basic requirement for Death Eaters? I swear, you are worse than Lucius!”

“We were speaking of life and death issues,” Severus reminded her. “I want to see you laugh at Malfoy when he sticks his wand in your face and speaks the killing curse, as I have seen him do to countless others. You seem to be forgetting that we are talking about people who are prepared to go out there, learn the killing curse and then slaughter their own kind!”

Morgana assumed a more serious expression again, obviously realising that this matter could not be laughed away so simply.

“Severus,” she said quietly, reasonably, “Hogwarts was safe while it was under the protection of Dumbledore. Mum said so herself. When he fell, Hogwarts fell with him.”

“I am the cause of Dumbledore’s fall,” replied Severus harshly. “In any possible sense. I am to blame.”

“Why?”

“Dumbledore would have died because of his injury,” said Severus slowly. “The reason he had to take Hogwarts down with him was that Draco Malfoy had to get a shot at killing him so that I could fulfil an Unbreakable Vow. In order to survive, I had to get the opportunity of helping Draco Malfoy in his attempt to murder the headmaster, whatever the cost. Dumbledore never blamed me for his death. But he knew as well as I did that Hogwarts wouldn’t have had to fall, too, had I not taken that vow. He could just have left it to Minerva.”

“That’s horrible,” said Morgana quietly.

Severus nodded, feeling a little better.

“I meant,” said the witch quietly, “your assumptions that you are single-handedly responsible for everything that happened after Dumbledore’s death. You know… imagine a world in which factors other than Severus Snape’s personal decisions could play a role in deciding the world’s fate. Imagine if this whole war hadn’t been all about you!” Her expression was adapting a malevolent tone now. Severus hated it.

“I never said the entire war was about me!” he snapped. “As opposed to other people, who are celebrated as Dumbasses Who Live! Sometimes, however, people make mistakes and that causes terrible things to happen!”

“I know that!” snapped Morgana back. “Merlin knows, I’ve come across the concept in my life. But there are also people who make mistakes and then spend the rest of their days wallowing in self-pity about it!”

“I am _not_ wallowing in self-pity!”

“You think,” said Morgana loudly, talking as though she was explaining the facts of life to a very small child, “that a house which isn’t fixed in time, which isn’t anchored to your reality, which is less than unplottable, owned and steered, so to speak, by an experienced practical historian, could suddenly be made conquerable by your mere presence in it! Or Lucius's. You think that a woman, who has been running pureblood society for almost a century now, is incapable of making decisions in the best interest of those who inhabit this house, because this now includes you. Merlin knows what kind of information you have that would discredit the security behind everything my grandparents built up in their lifetime, but I think I’ll allow myself to be perfectly reassured by what grandma said when I came back from our little excursion the other night and told her you had left!”

Against his will, Severus raised his eyebrows, trying to make it look challenging. “And she said what exactly?”

“Finally, she said. And: I was beginning to think he would never do it.”

Severus frowned.

“Do what?”

“That’s what I asked her,” said Morgana darkly. “And she said: ‘Why, he is obviously going to see Minerva, is he not?’ And I had to confirm it and then she made it out like she knew every single of your intentions and more and she went in to return to talk to Lucius, who was just sitting there, his face blank, not seeming to take in anything anyone said. I think she was in the middle of obliviating him, actually.”

So that was is, was it? Life was as easy as this? Lady McGillivray determined your fate and you jumped through the hoops presented to you? Severus shook his head to drive away the mental image. His insides felt saggy again, his brain empty.

“Come home with me,” said Morgana softly, holding out her hand, “I promise things will be all right this time.”

Severus scowled. Once again, he felt something pulling at his insides. Morgana smiled, not noticing any of his physical discomfort. Was his parents' house casting him out once more? Eventually, he took her hand and they rose. A surge of warmth filled his body, spreading everywhere from his cold fingertips. Whatever the future held, he would have to stand up to it. And he would not have to do it alone.

 


	20. Conditions

 

**Hamish McGillivray: “Blood Purity – The Delusion of A Family” – Excerpt 3: Adoption**

 

_Ironically, against all blood-related preferences that might otherwise prevail, pureblood society makes it possible and legal to adopt an heir to the family fortune and the name of one’s bloodline in more than just the traditional way of taking in a child and raise it. This traditional way is called **Simple Open Adoption** and it includes the mere change of the adoptee’s legal status. The adoptee, usually children under the age of three, is being transferred from a children’s home or orphanage to the family. To the child’s new parents then fall all the rights and duties of wizarding parents with regard to their biological offspring, with the exception of the child’s blood status, which is used to measure the period in which the parents will be liable for the child’s actions (including crimes). In cases where the blood status is unknown, the adopting individual or couple will usually be obliged to look after the child up to the age of 25. If the blood status is known, parents will be required to look after the child until he or she is_

_21 in cases of Muggleborns,_

_30 in the case of Halfbloods or less, and_

_42 in the case of Purebloods._

_This method is usually chosen by parents who have an actual interest in raising a child rather than winning an heir for the family fortune._

_**Simple Closed Adoption** is similar, but includes the change of the adoptee’s legal status and their name! The parents will be required to raise their child as pureblood-like as possible, which means they will be liable for their child’s actions until he or she turns 42 (which is the supposed age of maturation for purebloods whose line has been Muggle-free for seven generations). This will be regardless of the adoptee’s blood status._

_**Complex Adoption** , sometimes called “Full Adoption”, includes the change of the adoptee’s legal status, their name, and a full erasure and changing of their memory. This method is the most expensive of all three, since it requires the services of a skilled Evicimens and several Transfiguration experts. It is therefore most commonly used by pureblood parents who do not wish to raise a child but still require an heir to the family fortune and name. In this case, an adult individual’s mind will be altered to suggest a biological relation to the target family. In addition, the adoptee’s identity will either be re-written and a new past created ( **Open** method), or their current identity will be deleted from the memory of every member of pureblood society and a new, pure-blood one created ( **Closed** method). This, again, is immensely expensive and not usually done. That is to say, there are no records of this kind of process. Research in the field of practical history suggests..._

~*~

The tapestry was the same as ever, dark and gloomy and reeking of a dusty past. An atmosphere of heavy dignity hung over Lady McGillivray’s office like an invisible blanket filled with a family’s entire history compressed into tiny amounts of space. The furniture seemed bigger than before, towering over Severus, who had begun to feel smaller with every step he took towards the underground workplace of the most powerful individual of contemporary pureblood society. The air felt dark and damp, as always, and he shivered from the cold, disgusted at himself for being slave to his emotions for once. It was clear that the lady either liked uncomfortable surroundings or changed the temperature on purpose to intimidate her visitors. Both was equally likely and discomforting for Severus to consider.

Vesta McGillivray was sitting at her desk when he entered the room. It was probably a good sign and Severus approached slowly, closing the door behind himself with a more or less intended thud. The lady looked up, gave him an intent look and then motioned towards the only other chair in the room.

“So. The Halfblood parasite finally returns to its host,” she observed, “to rely some more on its empathy and good-will. How endearing.”

Severus frowned, but said nothing. He felt sick with a subconscious fear of a renewed loss of control. Only with supreme reluctance had he re-entered the manor, and only in a fully alert and distrustful state would he conduct this conversation, to which Mawly had steered him (you could not speak of an invitation) mere moments after he and Morgana had returned from their late-night journey. He would be vigilant every step on his way. Fear was a luxury he would refuse himself – for now.

“You wished to speak to me, Lady McGillivray?”

With a smug smile, she pointed at a tea pot, which stood on one of the shelves near the fireplace, looking as though it had been placed there for this purpose alone.

Severus felt his lips purse.

“No, thank you.”

Vesta McGillivray’s eyes narrowed slightly. Severus returned her gaze unblinkingly. He would not be bullied into yet another demonstration of his incomplete magical powers. If he could not summon the tea voicelessly, he would not summon it at all.

After a small and unpleasant silence in which each of them met the other’s gaze of deep disapproval and reproach, Severus rose and walked towards the shelf in a few swift steps, taking the teapot in his pale hands. He had lost weight during the last days, he noticed. The pot was heavier than expected and unpleasantly hot, as though the lady had foreseen even this course of action. He placed the item on her desk with a small but audible clank, and, his gaze never leaving her stern, furrowed face, sat down again, wondering whether this course of action had been the wisest he could have chosen. He was trying to get into this person’s good graces, after all. But somehow the urge to defy her game had been stronger. He suddenly remembered an old habit of seizing up Death Eaters in the old days, trying to determine whether they required demure grovelling or an open challenge in order to pay back some of the respect he had always willingly given. Such a desire to prove himself had driven him back then. Which type of person did his host belong to?

Vesta McGillivray surveyed him for what felt like an eternity and then, having conveyed her soundless reproach, tapped her hands once, lightly, to make the tea serve itself for both of them. Severus became instantly aware that the aura of magic, which usually surrounded Lady McGillivray and everything pertaining to her, which had made his body react with violent repulsion against the alien magic in previous weeks and months, was now almost imperceptible, swallowed, perhaps, by the strength of his recovering theurgic system. This was new and it made him suddenly uneasy rather than triumphant. Or perhaps it was the lady’s presence which wore him out. He decided for a less confrontational approach.

“Apologies,” he heard himself say as though through a veil. “No disrespect meant.”

What on earth was it that happened to him every single time he entered this room? It was ridiculous. Even the lady looked surprised. His apology, however, was apparently suited to keep the peace.

“In a sense, this makes for a less despicable display than your last visit,” judged the lady benevolently. “Though far from adequate for an wizard of your age. Have you not fully recovered by now?”

“I am afraid not,” said Severus quickly. “Although I can say that I am on my best way.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Vesta McGillivray, sounding anything but. “Where did you disappear to, then?”

“Africa.”

“By means of…?”

“We flew.”

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

“I thought you knew these things,” said Severus daringly. “Indeed, Morgana seemed quite confident that you would not need to question people at all.”

“Morgana’s view of me is that of an admiring granddaughter,” said the lady sweetly. “Wherever she gets the idea that I would engage in illegal activities such as mind magic is completely beyond me.”

“I see,” said Severus doubtfully. “Well, I spoke to Minerva, and…”

“I know that,” cut the lady in. “Young Toke's account was detailed enough, if a little befuddled. I’ll admit freely that your sudden decision to take action came as a bit of a surprise. I understand that you finally fulfilled our agreement?”

Severus hesitated, then nodded. She likely knew everything. There was no point in secrecy – or reserve, he thought angrily. The lady had this in common with her granddaughter. She did not seem to think that he (as a Halfblood, perhaps) deserved any kind of privacy.

“And your little trip?” the lady demanded to know as though on cue. Severus felt his hands clench into fists. But he was still so exhausted. Perhaps he was getting ill. His thoughts were wandering and he had severe trouble focusing his thoughts at all, despite the necessity for Occlumency in situations like this… It became increasingly clear to him that trying to keep secrets from Vesta McGillivray was going to be a great deal harder than trying to outperform Albus Dumbledore or even the Dark Lord himself, however much she proclaimed ignorance of these particular magical branches. Dumbledore, of course, had only agreed to let him return to the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle at the time after he had made sure that Severus’s defences were absolutely steadfast – yet, working his magic against the Dark Lord had been an entirely different game than fighting off Dumbledore's steadfast training attempts… and different again was this person, who did not have the desire to let you know exactly how powerful she really was, who did not feel the need to tell you every step of the way how far you had actually got in outsmarting her. It was difficult and intriguing. A challenge.

“I take it,” said the lady now, as always staying strictly on topic, “that you retreated somewhere to do some serious thinking?” She was throwing him a bone. It did not matter where he had been.

“I went to fetch a few personal items at my parents’ house,” he replied. “After Minerva and I agreed to get married.”

There was a small pause. Severus watched the lady’s expression carefully. That was what she had wanted, was it not? This had been her explicit assignment. Nevertheless, he felt bold as he said it, as though he was imposing himself upon her, confronting her unduly with his audacity of asking her daughter’s hand in marriage.

He received a thin smile, designed to put him at ease, no doubt, but unreadable nevertheless. He made to drink some tea, but his hands were shaking, so he decided to keep them on his lap in the end, hidden from the lady’s view. Vesta McGillivray’s eyes were boring into his and, for the first time in his life, he had the impression that even an attempt of using Occlumency would be pointless. In momentary relaxation, he therefore leaned back and allowed himself to recollect his conversation with Minerva, as well as his later exchange with Morgana concerning the reasons for his reluctance to return to the manor.

The lady’s lips curled into an unfathomable smile.

“I shall permit, Halfblood,” she then said, “that is, to stick to wizarding law, _my husband_ shall permit your marriage with my daughter only under the condition that you allow yourself to be adopted by a pureblood family.”

Severus stared at her, torn from a momentary sensation of complete ease. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have made arrangements to this effect,” said Vesta McGillivray factually, not letting on if she was enjoying herself or not, which confused him. “It is a good family I have chosen for you, very practical, too, name-wise.”

It all came to Severus in a fraction of a second. Her intention, the steps she had taken, his earlier confusion and talking cross purpose. Here was the explanation for all of it.

“General Snape mentioned that you spoke to him,” he said coldly, not seeing any point in beating around the bush. “I was rather surprised to find that you made such a move without consulting me.”

The lady laughed. It was an odd sound, Severus found, and realised that he had not heard her laugh before. Not like this. It was not a cold and mirthless laugh like the Dark Lord’s, nor was it a chuckle, as Dumbledore’s had been. But it spoke of an attitude held by the rich and powerful towards those with less influence or money. It told a story of determination and of the awareness that your interests were more important than the interests of your opposite. Without saying it, without so much as touching the subject, Vesta McGillivray conveyed to Severus that consulting him in matters concerning his future was like consulting your four-year-old on the question of whether they would go to bed soon. She considered his view in this completely irrelevant. Severus felt his fists clench under the table.

The lady rose from her chair and took a few steps across the room. She perused her bookshelf for a moment and then took a leather-bound book out from behind the place where the teapot had stood. She handed it to Severus wearing the trace of a smug smile, now lined, he thought, with superiority and contempt.

“Read this,” she demanded, her tone not permitting him to protest. “It will tell you everything you need to know about pureblood adoption. Once you are ready to comply, return with the book and your answer.”

“You _need_ me to marry your daughter!” said Severus angrily, not taking the book. “Your _life_ depends on her being taken care of in old age!”

Vesta McGillivray stopped in mid-track and gave him a curious glance. Was he imagining it, or had she gone just a little paler around the nose? He met her gaze in anger and defiance.

“You need my help,” he muttered, less convinced than before.

“Do not presume, Halfblood,” replied the lady icily, having regained her composure. She returned to her seat. “The day I need your help will be the day my granddaughter agrees to undergo society training and begs me to find her a husband. I do not _need_ someone to marry Minerva who happens to feel like it. I _want_ someone with whom she gets along. Do you understand the difference?”

Severus stared at her.

“You seem to be labouring under the delusion that Hamish and Vesta McGillivray’s only daughter suffers from a lack of potential suitors,” said the lady, more softly than before, but as dangerously. “Indeed, you seem to be under the impression that I cannot simply tell Minerva whom to marry, if I wish. I wonder how you have ever been able to get along with individuals such as Lucius Malfoy, if you understand so little about the simplest of pureblood principles: those who are young obey those who are old. No questions asked.”

“I am fairly sure that Minerva will want to have a say in her choice of husband, though,” retorted Severus. “Don’t tell me you would force her to marry just anyone.”

“You are correct in assuming that the use of force is not my usual choice of style,” said Vesta McGillivray coldly. “I prefer the elegance of simple coercion. And it works well on Minerva, as demonstrated by your success in your endeavour of asking her hand in marriage. I thought you fashioned yourself a ‘Death Eater’?” She laid a delicate stress on each of the two words, making the term sound ridiculously theatrical rather than meaningful or threatening. Not many people managed this by prosody alone. “You must understand the difference.”

“Yet,” managed Severus, his fingertips tingling with impatience, “you would like your daughter to be happy, I am sure.”

“What I would or wouldn’t like is of limited concern to you, Halfblood,” replied the lady. “You must concentrate simply on what I tell you to do. Incidentally, even you must realise that an adoption would benefit your status within pureblood society immensely. Is that not what you have always aspired to?”

“It is,” confirmed the Snape, feeling silly. “I didn’t say I was entirely opposed. I was merely…”

“…surprised, I know,” said Lady McGillivray, sounding bored. “Many people with whom I work are, at some point. You will be happy to hear that they usually find I act in their best interest.”

Severus nodded, slowly, wondering what part the witch’s supposed Evicimency skills played in this. He looked down at the book, which she shoved into his hands now. It read ‘Blood Purity – The Delusion of a Family’. He had seen it on one of the shelves in the Hogwarts library before, he seemed to remember, several years earlier. The title had repulsed him at the time.

“My husband’s work,” the lady informed him. “Don’t concern yourself with the details of the blood lines too much, but read the parts on adoption and marriage. Many things will become clearer then.”

“I am getting another reprieve, then?” Severus enquired sardonically. The lady frowned.

“You are getting some time to think. Which you will use to come to the most advantageous solution for everyone involved,” said Vesta McGillivray. “I realise that Halfbloods are not usually very quick-witted, but surely, at your age, you do not require more than, say, two days?”

“I shall require one,” said Severus angrily, intent on proving that he was very quick-witted indeed.

The lady nodded. “A day then,” she said. “After that, I shall invite the general for some discussion of the specifics. We shall require a schedule and have to discuss some of the finer details of what we want to include.”

Severus frowned, but nodded. He rose, indicated a bow, and then moved towards the door, feeling that the conversation was probably over.

“One more thing,” said Vesta McGillivray when he had already crossed the doorstep. “Don’t waste too much time reading up on Simple Adoption. It is the Complex one you want. You may disregard the question of finances. That will be taken care of.”

Severus blinked and nodded again.

“Good day, young Snape,” said the lady sweetly, as though giving him a taste of yet unreachable honours. “I should like to welcome you into the family, should you come to make the correct decision.”

And the door fell shut behind him before he could think of a reply. Severus stood alone in the corridor of the old wizarding manor, clutching history book with both hands, feeling very alone all of a sudden.

 


	21. Decision Making

_**Horace E.F. Slughorn, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to Minerva G. McGonagall, Hogwarts Representative in Africa** _

_Minerva, the time has come for us to have an earnest conversation about your return to Hogwarts. You know that you belong here, there is no question that Belby made a mistake in allowing you to leave and thereby confronting the three of us with jobs we cannot adequately fulfil. Please agree to meet me for a discussion on the future wellbeing of Hogwarts. I am sure you will be able to regain your position as Head of Gryffindor at least, or even become Second Deputy Head. I could very much use some help sorting out some of the more difficult student-related problems. You always seemed to work magic in this particular area, figuratively speaking, of course._

_Regards,_

_Horace._

 

_**Minerva G. McGonagall, Hogwarts Representative in Africa to Horace E.F. Slughorn, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _

_Horace, I appreciate the sentiment behind your request despite the insinuation that I am not up to the task of assisting the Ministry and our fine veterans down here with their task of re-building the British Wizarding Army. You will be pleased to hear that things are going splendidly. I am effecting changes which will hopefully retain most of the 'boyscout-like' elements of the BWA while getting rid of some of the more outdated rules and regulations, including actual war and human blood-shed._

_For this reason, I regret to say, I shall not return to Hogwarts any time soon. I may be tempted to be promoted into a more worthwhile position at a later point, but be assured that I shall not be tempted to accept the position which you so kindly offered me. Certainly, though, not under a headmaster who cannot be bothered to engage in problems of education or at least to secure Hogwarts's social position and take an interest in educational politics, as Dumbledore has done in his time. Please rest assured that I am very sympathetic towards your current situation, but perhaps you might consider the possibility of using your wide-ranging influence outside of school to suggest a better suited candidate for the job of Hogwarts headmaster – or headmistress, if you catch my drift. Someone, perhaps, with years of experience, who actually knows the school and the tasks involved in running it?_

_I apologise profoundly for my bluntness. Apparently, in a world of politics run by self-proclaimed wise men with long beards (even Kingsley is growing one, for Merlin's sake!) it is necessary to speak a different language than the one my mother taught me._

_Regards,_

_Minerva._

 

_**Horace E.F. Slughorn, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to Minerva G. McGonagall, Hogwarts Representative in Africa** _

_Minerva, I accept your conditions. During my next game of wizard chess with the Minister for Magic, I shall make a few small suggestions to him that should work in your favour. The school governors will constitute our smallest problem. They realised long ago that they might have made a mistake in the assignment of the Hogwarts headship to an outsider. And Malfoy, as I recently heard, won't be too sad to see you leave Africa. But knowing you I feel confident that you have a potential successor in mind already, should you be successful in obtaining the Hogwarts headship._

_Will you agree to meet me presently, please? There are urgent matters I would wish to discuss with you. Problems of an olfactory kind, for example, and individual students' misconduct._

_Horace._

 

_**Minerva G. McGonagall, Hogwarts Representative in Africa to Horace E.F. Slughorn, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _

_Horace, I have returned from Africa rather sooner than expected this week, due to urgent family matters. Those, I am afraid, have strict priority with me now. Let me know when you have come to any kind of noteworthy agreement with Kingsley and Malfoy. Until then, I am afraid there is little I can do for you._

_Regards,_

_Minerva._

 

_P.S.: A few helpful notes, perhaps, so as to prevent the worst:_

_1) If the Fat Lady won't stop screaming, it is because one of the students has threatened her with a silver knife. Especially 6th and 7th Slytherins have had a tendency to do this ever since her encounter with Sirius Black a decade or so ago._

_2) Argus Filch has no magic. This means he cannot enter the Room of Requirement. If the Seventh Floor smells, it is usually because one of the students has put something edible in that room, which is starting to rot._

_3) Mr Malcolm Baddock is dyslexic. Like most purebloods, his parents deny the existence of this illness. Apart from the remedial lessons assigned to him five years ago, someone needs to look out for traces of a traditional education with him – after each home visit, if possible._

_4) There is a number of students who have been suffering from bad nightmares ever since the so-called Battle of Hogwarts uprooted them all. Among them are Miss Ginny Weasley, Mr Theo Toke and Mr Euan Abercombie. Should any of them require dreamless sleep potions, they must get them no questions asked._

 

~*~

 

Evening and morning passed without any noteworthy occurrences. Minerva seemed glad to see Severus back in the safety of the time-turner field, yet awkward and reluctant to speak to him, about marriage issues in particular. Severus welcomed it, since he required time to think. Complex Wizarding Adoption, with all that it entailed, seemed a rather drastic step to take, even in his current situation, and while he was sure he would not miss certain aspects of his past at all if they chanced to disappear from his memory for good, other aspects were less easily dismissed. Who knew, for instance, if he would have been able to become friends with Lily Evans prior to the arrival of their Hogwarts letters, if he had grown up in a pureblood household? Where was it the general lived again? London? These things gave you much to think about, and they also gave you a headache, most of the time. Severus found himself rubbing his temples more than once during the following hours, thinking that it was absurd to even consider deleting his entire past from his memory to replace it with a fake identity just for the sake of turning pure-blood.

Morgana was no help, of course. She seemed intent on giving him as much space as possible so as to enforce more communication between her mother and him, which had the effect of putting him under immense pressure and making him actively try and rush his decision.

“No, I don’t want to. Yes, I do, but not under these circumstances. There is no alternative. She gives no alternatives. There must be. There could be… oh, very well then. After all, what would I miss?”

He decided, in the end, that there was a Pensieve he could refer to with regard to things he might miss and pondered endlessly over questions of which magic to utilise in order to find all the memories precious to him and of how to define these memories in the first place. He then considered, whether it was worth gambling his entire past by putting it into the Pensieve as one and hiding it from Vesta McGillivray’s watchful eye, so as to retrieve everything later and have the new life, but with knowledge of the old one.

The Pensieve let him down, however, at least with regard to memory retrieval incantations, and he eventually settled for staring endlessly at a few memories of Lily Evans in her final years which he had stored away a long time ago so that they would stop messing with his mind while he was at work and busy getting her offspring into line. Too lazy to use his wand, he just prodded the silvery liquid with his finger a little, making it swirl, and tried to recall the exact feelings he had had at the various occasions that appeared in the swirling mist here and there. Once again, he noted, his body did not react at all to the magic it was presented with, which felt good and unusual at the same time. Something was missing, though he could not put his finger on what exactly it was. He did not ponder for long, though. The Pensieve provided good enough entertainment and distraction.

This was Lily in her final year at Hogwarts paying the library a brief visit. He thought he remembered it happening weeks, even days before NEWT week. He, Severus, had been sitting in one corner of the library, by himself, Lily in the other. They had not been on speaking terms.

Then there was Lily in the second floor corridor, going through her notes, not even seeing him anymore – she had increasingly overlooked his presence, Severus remembered, upon hooking up with…  _him._

The Pensieve permitted a close look at James Potter, conjuring a magnificent, silver-white Patronus in the Defence classroom. The teacher at the time, one Professor Shoma Dutta, gave it a bored side-glance and noted something down on a piece of paper, evidently deciding that this was no noteworthy achievement among Potters numerous other marvellous deeds. Severus turned his face away in disgust – and found Morgana beaming at him inches away from the tip of his nose, almost touching his shoulder with her chin as she was peering into his Pensieve with interest and obvious amusement.

“Gosh, isn’t that James Potter? Aw, just look what his Patronus turns into! Looks like something that could shag your Patronus, eh?”

The Snape moved violently away from her, almost knocking over the Pensieve as he did. He pointed his wand at her chest in blind horror, trying to make himself calm down and to stop his thoughts from racing. She had seen his memories. She had looked at his Pensieve without invitation or permission. Only the most impertinent, thoughtless, dim-witted people… but not even Potter, at the time, had been brazen enough to do it in Severus’s presence!

Morgana raised both hands, looking shocked and a little appalled. “Sheesh, I was just looking!” she said good-naturedly. And, no more excitedly than before, “Toke, save me! Your patient is having a nervous breakdown.”

On cue, Livius Toke’s podgy figure appeared on the doorstep, holding a carrot in his left hand and a small pot of sour cream in the other.

“Can’t right now,” he said, chewing. “But if you provoke him long enough, he’ll jinx you to dangle upside down under the ceiling. Believe me, _I_ know.”

Severus looked back and forth from one to the other, his wand still raised. It was hard to take yourself seriously when other people were so obviously not.

“How would you know anything about my Patronus?” he therefore spat at Morgana, lowering his wand at a snail’s pace.

“Saw it,” said the witch. “When you were like sixteen or something. Remember when there was an infestation of Dementors in the Forbidden Forest? I didn’t break the student curfew for weeks!”

“I remember,” said Severus darkly, and then, to Toke, just because he was there and so was the adrenaline of Morgana’s sudden appearance, “and what are you doing? Are you on a diet or are you trying to come out of the closet?”

Toke’s broad smile vanished from his face. “I like carrots – for eating!”

“You are one strange specimen of Slytherinkind,” Severus mumbled. “Are you here for a therapy session, then, or to continue your delusion that Morgana might at some point fall in love with you and bestow you with who knows what kind of kinky pleasures?”

Morgana's face flushed a deep shade of red. Good. He had known this topic to be delicate, just as she had known what a peek into his Pensieve entailed. Sometimes it was surprisingly easy to get square with her – for some reason, this soothed his anger.

“The former, actually,” said Toke now, regaining his dignity faster than usual. “And just for your information, Morgana and I have officially brought our relationship to an end. But since we’re discussing kinky pleasures, I wouldn’t mind a little less torture during the session, if you don’t mind. No jinxing St. Mungo personnel today.”

“I didn’t say I wanted therapy today,” remarked Severus. “I am quite busy, actually.”

“Told you,” said Morgana triumphantly, turned to Toke. “He needs to sort out his feelings.”

“I need to sort out something a lot more important, actually,” said Severus venomously.

“Anything we can help with?” enquired the nurse. Severus frowned, then considered this. Toke often proved a source of unexpected ideas or knowledge, not least because of his position in society and the things he encountered because of it. But something as complicated as this...?

“I doubt it. Or do you have any experience with memory alteration, alternate lives, alternate history?” The question was an earnest one.

Toke frowned and Morgana shook her head. “Why?”

“Because that’s what I am facing if I want your grandmother to agree to my marriage,” said Severus darkly, and he told them about the prospect of Complex Adoption. It did not take long, since both of them knew the concept. “And the worst that could happen,” he concluded, “would be that I change so thoroughly that Minerva will hate me and refuse to go through with the marriage. The alternative isn’t better, however, because how could I go against your grandmother’s wishes?”

Morgana shrugged, looking unconcerned.

“Same way my dad did, I should say,” she remarked. “Same way my mum did when marrying him. It’s really quite easy.”

Severus stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“It all boils down,” said Morgana wisely, putting a hand in Toke’s pocket and extracting another carrot, “to whether you agreed to this marriage for social reason or for personal ones. You can marry mum and be happy ever after without grandma agreeing to it. But you can’t be in society without grandma’s blessing. That’s probably what she wants to teach you, too. Happened to me as well. I took the former route, if you hadn’t guessed. As did mum.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the stories,” mumbled Severus absently.

Morgana chewed her carrot. “And?” she said. “Social or personal reasons?”

“Personal ones,” Toke whispered into her ear, just loudly enough for Severus to hear. “Don’t ask, it’s very embarrassing for him.”

“Livius Toke!” said Severus warningly, “you will not sprout this kind of nonsense without my explicit permission!”

“But you are in love?” probed Toke, strangely unembarrassed. Morgana’s bad influence, no doubt. Severus glared at him.

“Shut your insolent mouth!” he said harshly. “Another attempt to meddle in my personal affairs and I will introduce you to an entirely new dimension of bodily displeasure.”

“Hey!” snapped Morgana as Toke hurried to hide behind her square frame. “Watch who you threaten, lovebird!”

Severus scoffed at her, stored away his wand angrily, took his Pensieve under one arm and made to leave the room. A wise man would break off a debate before it turned into a fight. With Morgana, his wisdom regularly failed him, but he could still be the wiser of the two of them. Or three, if you counted Toke.

“Goodbye,” he therefore said loftily, “I shall continue my considerations in the solitude of my bedroom.”

“Or, of course,” said Morgana, talking not to him but to the tartan curtains at the other side of the room, “you could use granddad’s What-If Device.”

Severus stopped in mid-track. It seemed impossible that he could have heard this one right.

“Your grandfather’s What- _what_ Device?”

Morgana grinned. “It’s a sort of time-turner like thingy he discovered by accident during his studies,” she explained. “It creates a fictional scenario of the past by means of deploying the multiple universe theory… I’m not sure exactly how it works, but that’s how granddad explained it.”

Severus continued to stare at her, uncharacteristically open-mouthed, his eyes narrowed in bewilderment and disbelief.

“A fictional scenario… of the past?”

“Yeah,” said Morgana, munching her carrot. “Neat, hu?”

“That is nonsense,” replied Severus firmly. “Such an item does not exist. It should, by rights, not exist. I would have heard of it if such an item existed.”

Morgana shook her head.

“Granddad never made it public. As I say, it was an accidental discovery. He says there are too many weird things people might try with this device, so he’d rather keep its discovery to himself. It’s the act of a noble and wise man, you know, rather than someone seeking nothing but their own social and financial profit.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. He had a sudden suspicion that he was only beginning to discover the kinds of magic stored away under McGillivray Manor’s roof. If he was guessing correctly, Lady McGillivray would probably want to use this highly useful item to devise an artificial past for him. And if she used magic to create a family background for him, he could use magic to have a look at what such a background might look like before he made his decision.

“Didn’t you tell me he chucked it away and forgot about it?” enquired Toke suddenly from behind Morgana, pulling Severus from his musings. She elbowed his rib, making him moan slightly, which made her turn around and kiss him on the forehead. Severus blinked.

“So this is what the end of a relationship looks like,” he remarked, sounding politely unimpressed. “Astonishingly like the beginning of one, I have to say.”

“Not that you could tell from experience,” snapped Morgana, kissing Toke again, this time on his lips. “But then, your idea of relationships is probably totally conventional. This is not so with the two of us, right, Toksey? We don’t let society dictate whether or not we love each other, relationship or not.”

The nurse managed a lopsided, half-embarrassed smile. It was hard to say what he thought about the arrangement, only that he was not entirely opposed to the kissing and the closeness.

“Anyway,” said Severus impatiently, aggressively uninterested in these matters. “Where is this device, and how can I use it?”

 


	22. The Loss

_**Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, to Minerva G. McGonagall, Hogwarts Representative for the British Wizarding Army** _

_Dear Minerva,_

_I have not heard from you in a long time. For the sake of catching up, would you like to meet me for lunch this week? Friday night would be convenient, but being the Minister for Magic, I will be able to arrange any other day, too, if your schedule permits no Friday appointments. I suggest The Three Broomsticks, for old times' sake._

_Greetings,_

_Kingsley._

 

~*~

 

Morgana led the two men all the way up to the attic and towards a small room all the way in the back. Severus tended to avoid this area of the house because it usually made his skin crawl, but today his body did not react at all to what seemed like the most magic-laden part of the entire manor and he proudly concluded that he was growing too strong to even notice the effects of Doxies or Boggarts or whatever kind of being vegetated away in the wooden wardrobes and antique dressers which copiously littered the place. Even walking into Spinner’s End had been ridiculously easy, despite his security spells or the adjacent Portkey route.

Challenging the threat of death through leaving the time-turner field was obviously a good decision. Morgana had been right, Severus mused. You could either bemoan your fate and eventually accept never being part of wizarding society again, or you could accept the challenge thrown upon you, fight and win. And this, he knew, he had done with admirable perseverance. Not every wizard, surely, would have withstood the pressures... but he needed to concentrate on the matter at hand. There was a future to build now. This new undertaking would now prove, once and for all, that he was becoming healthy again at an enormous speed. Who knew, if all went as it had so far he might be cleared to leave the house by the end of the year...

Toke stopped at the door, looked around cautiously and then opened one of the drawers of an old dresser. He seemed alert and very official, Severus thought, despite wearing a set of simple robes instead of his nurse’s uniform for a change. Of course, none of them had realised how far Severus had already progressed. They were worrying in vain.

The former Potions master allowed his fantasy to run wild. He could see the situation clearly in his mind’s eye. Toke would discover some kind of unpleasant magical being, brace himself for launching into the inevitable rescue proceedings – and find that Severus remained standing, perhaps permitting himself a lazy spell in the general direction of the magical being, very calm, completely in control of his own body, no longer the wriggling, magicless maggot they all took him for... it would be the end of Severus the invalid and the beginning of a new era...

“When you two are done looking for potential threats,” Morgana’s voice pulled him from his daydreaming, “join me over there. Merlin’s arse, that wardrobe isn’t a monster, Toksey, so stop trying to penetrate it with your superboy x-ray stare.”

She seemed impatient, Severus noted, and a little less concerned for his safety than he would have liked. Quickly, he followed her further along the oblong attic, not wanting to give the impression that he was thinking about his health. That, after all, would have appeared slightly pathetic.

They marched through a line of shelves, on top of which someone had placed a number of empty, in some cases empty hour glasses of various sizes and shapes. He assumed they provided the raw-material for time-turners and similar things, but Morgana did not explain and he did not feel like asking. Instead, the three of them finally arrived at a wooden box, which took about the same space as a small car would, but was flatter and had a lid featuring what looked like a giant lock of stainless steel. Severus walked around it, scrutinizing it from all sides, and finally planted himself in front of Morgana again, looking cross.

“I doubt your grandfather will appreciate if we rummage through this.”

“Gosh,” said Morgana, producing her wand, “What tipped you off?”

“Initially, I’d have said that huge lock without any key in sight,” Severus replied, “but the massive inscription saying ‘Do Not Open Under Any Circumstances!’ seems to be the most obvious hint.”

“Yeah,” said Morgana slowly, “He puts that on all his boxes. Just ignore it.” She flicked her wand twice before Toke had a chance to prevent it (“No magic –”), making the lid spring open with a small but ominous noise. The nurse’s arm slumped earthward again in mid-movement, his words fading away one by one (“– this... close... to the... professor...).

But once again Severus’s body failed to react to the presence of magic around it. He gave the nurse a broad, smug smile. This moment was as good a any, even if it had not been as glorious as he had imagined it. Even Morgana’s attention was caught, her eyes fixed on him. Severus grinned, inviting them to share his pleasure. For some reason, however, Toke gave him an expression of consternation and concern while Morgana frowned, shrugged, and turned to peruse the box again. Youngsters. You’d have to work miracles before they could enjoy a spot of good news the old-fashioned way.

“Morgana,” said Toke suddenly, his attention, too, focusing on the box again, “there is nothing in there.”

The witch grinned. Severus met her gaze and he realised that she thought he was in on the joke. It took a few seconds before he realised why.

The box was a Pensieve. Pensieve-like, in any case. He discovered a couple of runes and inscriptions on the inside and realised that what he had taken to be old woodwork was actually finely crafted – specially designed to appear bland and shabby. What it was actually built to contain were... thought strands.

Severus stared at the device in fascination, not trusting his own eyes.

“Your father discovered this _accidentally_ during his studies?”

“Yeah,” said Morgana with an unconvincing nod. “Stumbled across it.”

“There’s some talent for ‘stumbling’,” mumbled Severus, letting his hands glide across the runes and the brim of the box. “How does it work?”

Morgana shrugged. “What do I know? What makes you think I’ve used it before? You think I can just go and take my grandfather’s belongings whenever I want?”

“Yes,” said Severus and Toke together, then looked at each other in surprise. “Evidently,” Severus added. Morgana scowled.

“Well, I did once just turn it over. You know, like a giant time-turner. But that threw me and my entire surroundings into a randomly created alternate past – took granddad’s colleagues ages to fix a decent time-line to my body again, he told me. Obviously, I don’t remember a thing. But, well, I thought there might be a more subtle way of using it. You know, more like you use that Pensieve-thing of yours.”

Severus, who was still carrying his Pensieve-thing under his arm, pondered about the matter for a while and then placed his thought-device on a dusty, round table under an equally round, half-blind attic window. He put both hands on the box’s brim, thought for a while, and then took out his wand, attempting to extract a few thought strands from his mind to ancor them with the What-If Box somehow. His attempt remained unsuccessful.

By means of a second try, Severus outstretched his wand arm, held the forearm in a right angle, as the textbook demanded, and spoke the incantation softly, with an almost steady voice.

“ _Adhaesimens_!”

He placed the wand at his temple, expecting his thoughts – any strand of thoughts, in fact, to stick to the wand’s tip where the magic assembled for spells like this… ought to have assembled, that is. He tried to read Toke’s expression, who bit his lip, and avoided his former head of house’s gaze. Severus frowned. Foolish boy, what ideas was he getting? It was the spell – a slight mispronunciation, perhaps. He would try again.

“ _Adhaesimens_! _Cohaesimens Virga_! Damnit! _Adhaesimens Virga!_ ”

“Oy!” said Morgana loudly. He felt his wand arm being gripped, the directionless shaking of his wand being brought to an end. “Come off it. Obviously, this thing doesn’t work the way we thought. We’ll find another way, no worries!”

Severus stared at her, a thousand replies appearing in his head, none wanting to escape his mouth. He had his wand still raised, still near his temple, but all energy had left his arm and the rest of his body. It was useless. He knew it, and so did Toke. The nurse was still staring at his feet, hardly daring to breathe. When Morgana stopped her attempts of placation, there was a sudden, horrible silence. Nothing was as it had been only moments before. In a single swipe, Severus’s mood had turned from exhilaration to disbelief, fear and eventually to anger. This was impossible! He would not accept it.

“You miserable failure of a nurse!” he hissed at Toke, whose head whipped up as though Severus had slapped his face.

“What?!”

“You pathetic excuse for an attendant! This is the effect of months of therapy, is it? Well, I think I know someone who will never make any kind of career as a healer...”

“I will not take responsibility for an injury, which you clearly inflicted upon yourself...” began Toke in an increasingly high-pitched voice, but Morgana stopped him.

“Cool down!” she demanded, “both of you! This is a ridiculous matter to fight over. Severus, that you can’t work the What-If Device doesn’t mean that your entirely therapy failed. It just means granddad built it differently somehow. We’ll find out how soon enough.”

“No,” said Toke quietly and Severus allowed it, knowing that there was no way he could explain the situation to Morgana while maintaining his composure. “This isn’t about the use of the device, Morgana. This is about the use of Legilimency. If you can’t assemble your magic enough, no thought strand will behave according to your will.”

“And?” shrugged Morgana, completely oblivious of the implications. “Is this bad or something?”

Toke gave her an unhappy smile. She turned to Severus instead, looking impatient.

“Well?”

“Magic doesn’t affect me,” said Severus slowly, hoarsely, more to Toke than to her. “I can’t feel the tingle, except in my fingertips sometimes.”

“Combined with a feeling of emptiness?” asked Toke, looking very unhappy. “Gradually less every day, every hour even? How long since you last felt it at all?”

Severus closed his eyes for a second. It could not be. It was impossible.

“When I left home,” he then said. “Morgana sidelong apparated me back here. Never since then.”

Toke nodded. Severus hated him for it.

“It might just be a step backwards,” he whispered. “A small step, nothing I can’t catch up on…”

“No!” breathed Morgana, finally understanding.

“No,” said Toke sadly, shaking his head. “This isn’t just a small step backwards. You know it. I knew it the moment you didn’t react to Morgana’s magic at all. Try it, though. Try levitating something. It might help us see if there is still anything there.”

The anger returned quickly, uncontrollably.

“Levitation! That is bloody First Year magic!”

“I know,” said Toke uneasily. “Please, Professor, we need to know.”

And slowly, as though in a dream, Severus raised his wand in the direction of his Pensieve, shaking visibly now, his lips dry and his voice raw, as he spoke the spell, his body heavy and drained, his arm feeling entirely bloodless.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

A swish and a flick.

The Pensieve remained standing entirely motionless, unimpressed by its owners efforts, the table unmoving as though to laugh in his face.

Severus’s lips quivered, his gaze fixed upon his Pensieve, his mind refusing to understand the implications. You could lose control over your magic, even lose your powers temporarily, as he had done after the incident in the Shrieking Shack. But Toke was right, if you could not feel your own power, couldn’t even feel other people’s magic when they performed powerful spells in your close reach... you had reached the worst possible point. A squibcident, they called it in the pubs and other heavily frequented wizarding hotspots, laughing it away over a pint of beer – a complete shutdown of your theurgic system. It was the worst thing that could happen to a witch or wizard in their lifetime. It was considered completely irreparable.

Not until Morgana placed a tentative hand on his shoulder did Severus realise that he had sunk to his knees. His wand dropped from his hand and rolled slowly away from him. He stared after it, hardly taking in the sight or the sound. Everything was suddenly quiet. The world had come to a temporary halt.

 


	23. Yes, Please

**"101 Magical Medieval Maladies" by Jean McDonald – Excerpt I**

_...Some wizarding injuries are as old as wizardry itself. It is possible to have your magical powers diminished by impairing your ability to cast spells appropriately, it is possible to have your magical powers altered by specialising on a particular branch of magic and spending years and decades conditioning your theurgic system to do one particular kind of magic only (most famously, this occurs when a witch or wizard becomes obsessed with the thought of immortality or absolute power and starts performing Dark Magic exclusively), and, lastly, it is possible to have one's theurgic system wounded or even destroyed so that, temporarily or for the rest of one's life one has about as much magic as your average Muggle..._

~*~

The smell of liquorice tea in a steaming mug between his hands brought Severus back to his senses. He was sitting in the kitchen, genuine wood everywhere around him, genuine emptiness in his head, genuine concern on the face of his best friend, who was sitting at the opposite side of the table, her hands holding each other as though she was trying to hold on to something untangible, looking as though she had been in this position for some time now. It was she who had shoved the tea into his hands, it was she he would talk to. No one else was still there and a silence hang over the two of them, as it so often did, only heavier, soaked with more unspoken sorrow than usual.

Minerva placed her hand and moved her thumb slightly. An unfamiliar gesture. Severus realised that she was stroking him.

“Severus,” she began eventually. Was it always she who began the difficult conversations? He had never wondered this before. It certainly was a great help now that he could not think for the world of what to say. He was still very much locked in on himself, avoiding one thought by trying to replace it with nothingness.

“Morgana told me everything,” said Minerva quietly. “We _must_ talk about it.”

Severus nodded, evading her gaze.

“We’ll have the best healers look at you,” promised his friend. “There usually is a way to at least attempt therapy in these cases…”

“How many of them have you known?” asked Severus hoarsely. Minerva shrugged.

“Two or three in my time as a teacher. One before that. A good friend of mine had a bad accident when she was very young. She never even attended Hogwarts.”

Severus did not reply. He was unsure if he wanted to hear these things, but Minerva’s voice brought him back to his senses and that, more than anything, was what he now needed.

“Friend?”

“Arabella Figg,” said Minerva. “She was in the Order of the Phoenix, in a manner of speaking.”

“One of Potter’s many bodyguards, was it not?” said Severus glumly, determined to distract himself. Minerva nodded.

“That’s right. She moved to Little Whinging only a few weeks after he was brought there. The Ministry used Evicimency on the Muggles of the area at the time to make everyone think she had lived there for as long as they could remember, when really she grew up in a pureblood household. Not a happy childhood, obviously, with everyone knowing she would never be able to work any magic…”

She stopped, looking a little sheepish. It was not clear, even to Severus, how much discussion he could stand at this point. It was necessary, though, and he knew it. There were too many things tied in with the issue of his health, and some of them concerned her. He was obliged to share. His voice sounded hoarse and he took two attempts to clear it before managing, “It’s not very likely to come back…”

“Oh, but it might!” interrupted Minerva forcefully. She wanted to believe it – _had_ _to_ believe it, perhaps.

“ _If_ it doesn’t,” he therefore pressed on, “there will obviously be a problem. With us.”

There was a small pause.

“With us?” came Minerva’s voice eventually, as though through a veil. “What do you mean, Severus?”

“The marriage,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You may want to… reconsider.”

Abruptly, the stroking stopped. The black-haired witch jerked her hand towards her body, crossing both arms in front of her small chest as though in a defensive gesture. “You… wish to…”

“You cannot marry someone without magic,” said Severus, not looking at her. “Not on top of everything. Your mother will have your head – both our heads. She won’t allow this marriage. Think about it, how _am_ I supposed to provide for you in old age? How can I, without any opportunity of taking part in wizarding society at all? Without magic, it is not just pureblood society that I am cut off from. It’s everything, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Meta-Camden… In this state, I can’t even get into all-magic places without help.”

“And help is what you shall have!” declared Minerva dramatically. “I won’t leave your side, shall take you wherever you need to go! We can visit places together!”

“And thus,” said Severus sadly, “you will provide for me, not vice versa.”

“Well,” said Minerva harshly, “I am sure we’ll find a way. You still have your knowledge, you could still teach…”

“It is highly unlikely,” said Severus, “that Hogwarts will hire a squib in any kind of teaching position. If I know Damocles Belby correctly, and believe me, we have met, he is highly prejudiced against non-magical beings of all kinds. And if I remember correctly, there is a protection clause in every teacher’s contract these days, which obliges them to participate in the combined spells that protect the outer…”

“No need to remind me,” Minerva interrupted, looking angry and embarrassed. “I suggested it at the time. I didn’t realise… Severus, I cannot! I am absolutely unable and unwilling to continue in this manner! If my mother doesn’t allow us to get married, I shall… well… I shall probably…”

“Elope?” said Severus, one corner of his mouth twitching. He felt too downtrodden for bantering, but this one couldn’t go unanswered. Minerva hesitated for a moment, then put two fingers on her chin to think.

“Well,” she said hesitantly, “why not, actually?”

Severus gave her a long and sad look.

“No,” he said eventually. “I won’t follow.”

Minerva’s face fell.

“Oh,” she said embarrassed. “Oh, I see…”

“It’s not…” Severus took an audible breath. Why did everything always have to be so hard? Why was there so much uncertainty? “I’m not opposed to this marriage,” he eventually said, feeling like a schoolboy confessing undying devotion to his first crush. “But I cannot live outside the wizarding world, in a mixed marriage unapproved of by pureblood society, being the cause of my wife’s social death, unable to do any magic of my own. I just… I know from a very trustworthy source that this constellation is _highly_ unfortunate…”

He felt his body tremble and Minerva taking quiet notice. She nodded eventually. She was so much quicker on the uptake than her daughter sometimes – unsurprisingly, perhaps. Her first husband must have been an imbecile.

“Severus, you will not remain magic-less.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I will do my best…”

“You cannot do anything,” said Severus forcefully. “Don't make promises you can't keep!”

There was a pause in which both of them looked out of the window with Minerva having to turn her head at a right angle, making her look awkward and impatient. Severus fidgeted. Something in his pocket began to move and he looked down in surprise.

At a snail’s pace, he extracted his mother’s box, from which the ring had disappeared the previous day. He opened it, on a whim, and, to his great surprise, found a piece of parchment inside. It was of a light yellow and folded a few times to fit into the small box. Had Morgana placed it there for a practical joke? But when would she have had the chance…?

Severus unfolded the parchment. Minerva had her gaze averted still, her face still read. The parchment read: “ _I’m magic._ ”

He snorted.

Minerva turned her head again. “What is it?”

“It's nothing,” said Severus quickly, making to hide the box again, but then thought the better of it, determined to relieve the situation of some of its awkwardness. “It’s… a box. My mother’s box. I don’t know what it does.” He handed her the piece of parchment, which she took, looking ill at ease.

“What is this?”

“It was inside.”

“ _I am magic_?”

“I don’t know what that means,” replied Severus truthfully.

“Your mother… she might have put this in a box to remind herself,” mused Minerva. “It was not a very happy marriage for her, was it?”

Severus shook his head. “She was trying so hard to fit in with my father's friends and colleagues. Tried so hard to be as Muggle-like as possible. And at the time, I suppose…” he hesitated.

“Divorce was out of the question as much as it is in the wizarding world to the present day,” Minerva completed his sentence and he frowned.

“Perhaps. But she would not have considered it. They were in love. She loved him enough to renounce her magic. And I think she would have considered it a personal failure, had her marriage not worked out. Being killed... it must have been like a challenge that pureblood society set and she had to master. She was very stubborn, my mother.”

“It’s astonishing, isn’t it,” said Minerva slowly, “how much store people set by societal rules even in matters of love...?”

Severus could not help it, he produced an embarrassed grin. Like a teenager. Like a love-sick teenager talking about love to the person on whom he had a crush.

It was pathetic, yet oddly satisfying.

“What would you like to do,” he enquired, “if there were no obligations, no social protocol whatsoever?” It was the kind of question she needed, he felt. It was also the kind of question she liked, despite her tending to hold up her appearance of an old spinster. She was, all in all, a Gryffindor. A spirited, unusually thoughtful, progressive and forward-thinking Gryffindor.

Minerva did not have to consider his question for very long. “I should like to kiss you again,” she said warmly. “Very much so.”

She could be so direct. Severus felt his face flush. Some things were very hard to react to. What was the appropriate reply to being offered something you wanted more than anything but hadn't felt you could ask for?

“Yes, please,” he said eventually, feeling a shiver run down his spine. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

Both looked at each other. This was new. They had been known to act irrationally before, but never made it a planned procedure. Severus realised that tradition demanded he take the first step while Minerva seemed to simultaneously decide that the initiative was up to her. Their lips met with an odd kind of determination on both sides. Minerva had inched forward slightly, Severus pushed his mug aside and his chair towards the bench on which his fiancée was sitting. The kiss was as awkward as the situation, lopsided, and less out of control than his previous experiences. He would treasure it for the rest of his life.

At the end of it, Minerva’s ears had assumed the shade of a very ripe tomato and Severus had to open the top button of his robes, thinking that his heart had not beaten this strongly since he had first taken a run around the Hogwarts lake.

“Severus,” said Minerva quietly, “would you still like to marry me, despite the unfortunate circumstances?”

“I…” he said, and then faltered. This was intensely hard. “I don’t wish to undo you.”

“Severus, that is _precisely_ what you wouldn’t do with a marriage,” said Minerva desperately. Don’t let blood status get in the way of this, please! Blood _does not_ matter!”

“It matters to some people,” said Severus. “And magic ability matters. The lack of it, certainly. You see,” he eventually decided to say, thinking it was time, “your mother told me that she wouldn’t condone a marriage unless I became a pureblood. Via complex adoption no less.”

Minerva stared at him.

“Tell me this isn’t true.”

“It is,” said Severus quietly. “I told her I’d think about it. I read your father’s article on it. Highly informative, I must say. Fascinating…”

“MAWLY!”

Severus did not jump at the shout. He was used to impulsiveness under this roof. Something told him that Minerva was about to do something foolish and this made him get up tensely, looking useless and awkward between the table and the chair he had just been using. It was always like this, was it not? He said something and it initiated a response, which got Minerva to act impulsively. And if it was just the calling of her mother's house-elf.

"What are you doing?"

"I am calling my mother's house-elf."

"Yes, I did, in fact, pick up on that."

"I want to talk to her."

"To the house-elf?"

"To my mother!"

"Whatever for?"

"I shall tell her," said Minerva with a ceremonious air about her, "to keep out of my life, and of yours, seeing as I find myself in a fortunate enough position to say something like this to Vesta McGillivray."

Severus's insides turned to ice. “You want to break off contact?”

“I want her to understand that my life is my own and that she _has_ to stop meddling in my personal affairs,” Minerva hissed. “That includes you. You are my friend – my chosen partner, if you will. And... truth be told... I do not understand why she continues to interfere. She has killed me, for Merlin's sake! What more can she want?”

 


	24. Perspectives

**Quarter to Five, on a Saturday Afternoon...**

_The moment I enter Diana's hallway there is silence. Seven pairs of curious, polite eyes are directed at me, anticipating my words of greeting, even though I am not, in fact, their hostess. Diana has positioned herself between two very distinguished, though vaguely bedraggled-looking gentlemen by the names of Timothy Nott and Ignatius Mulciber. Both of them are on my watch list because, though at very different stages of their lives, they share the interesting and currently rare advantage of being unmarried. And we do take an interest in pureblood bachelors these days, Diana and I. Because our kind has been producing more female than male offspring, sadly enough, which means that young witches are forced to choose impure alternatives, which, in turn, reduces our kind's overall lifespan. As a result of this interbreeding with non-magical humans and, in some cases, half-breeds, most of us do not live longer than two hundred years as it is. In short, we are facing disaster._

_Of course, the situation is not as precarious as it was fifty years ago when we had a lot more young wizards than witches and thus an extreme decline in our yearly birth rate. It is possible for one witch to be married to more than one wizard in her lifetime, after all. Merlin knows, Diana is living proof of this._

_When I greet my esteemed friend, she is already very much in the mood for social talk. But I turn her down, for the moment, because I am very curious about her other guests. I don't know half of them as well as I would like to, though some of the remaning ones rather too well for my taste. Why she has felt the need to invite Lucius Malfoy, I cannot say. He is my plaything and her involvement adds an unnecessary note of ambiguity. But she is aware that it displeases me and that is all I would ask for on this otherwise very fine evening._

_Young Toke is here, too, I notice. My work, of course. He shall be one of the most influential societal elements in a decade or so to come. I just haven't decided how yet. It depends a little on his personal goals. Career ambition is not his strong suit, sadly. But perhaps he has other qualities which can be brought forth at the duels later. I shall be very interested in seeing him... develop._

~*~

After a long wait, a very wrinkly, oversized head with long, bat-like ears poked through the gap between the kitchen door and its frame. Mawly was old, but the reason she could not apparate on these premises lay somewhere else, of course. It was the time-turner issue, which meant that anyone, including house-elves, who tried to apparate or disapparate here ran risk of ending up in the 9th century to be eaten by Saxon barbarians. Or something.

"You called, Mistress Minerva?"

"Thank you for being so quick, Mawly," said the black-haired witch quickly, her words politer than her tone. "Could you please tell my mother that I want to talk to her at once?"

"Oh, but Mistress McGillivray is attending Lady Warrington-Selwyn's gathering," said the little creature, looking surprised. "Would you like Mawly to deliver a message?"

"Oh, for crying out loud," said Minerva angrily. "Yes, please do. I need to make her understand that I am willing to comply to her insane social schemes no longer!"

"Is that really necessary?" enquired Severus uncomfortably. "I was rather hoping you would uphold the same degree of discretion, which I was sworn to..."

"The problem with my mother is," interrupted Minerva bluntly, motioning the house-elf to sit down beside her, "if you don't stop her in time, she'll start interfering with your life until you are caught so fully in her net that you are forced to do her bidding or die in the attempt to get out. She has done it with Scrimgeour and his predecessors, Lucius Malfoy and his family... and, more recently, with Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am not prepared to take this behaviour with regard to you. Refusing to give her blessing for a marriage that would benefit her and my father greatly is one thing, but luring you into potentially dangerous social territory by pushing your buttons... no. I won't accept it. I do not want you to marry me for the sole reason that you have no other choice and I do not want you to 'become' a pureblood simply because it would elevate my mother's status and satisfy her bloodist needs. And I shall have my will in matters of marriage. I thought I made that clear when marrying Topaz and divorcing him later, when it became necessary."

Mawly looked confused.

“Is that the message, Mistress Minerva?”

“Absolutely not,” said Minerva sternly. “You will please tell my mother the following two things. For one, she is absolutely forbidden to have any kind of adoption discussion on Severus's account with one General Caelian Lance Snape. Can you remember that?”

“Mawly is not stupid,” said the elderly creature, sounding a little offended. Severus made a mental note of Minerva's immediate assumption that her mother intended to link the two Snape lines, but said nothing.

“Good,” said Minerva. “Now, the second thing is that I wish to speak with her immediately. Well, as soon as possible anyway. Severus and I will be waiting for her in my office downstairs.”

Mawly nodded. Severus felt himself grow a little tense.

“You don’t really need me for this conversation, though, do you?” he enquired. Minerva gave him a stern look.

“Do you want my mother to dictate the rest of your life?”

“I… was thinking about it, actually,” replied Severus, still having to make himself speak.

Minerva stopped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” he pressed forth, “frankly speaking, it’s not as though being a pureblood would be the worst of options, considering that I don’t have many other qualities speaking for me at the moment.”

Minerva’s gaze darkened.

“I was thinking,” said Severus quickly, “that it might be advantageous to gain a new identity under the circumstances. My enemies would not guess at who I really am – I would not guess at who I really was, which would be a great advantage, believe me, and you… well, you could re-enter society, have a greater chance at saving your mother’s life, because obviously as a pureblood I’ll have some social connections perhaps allowing me to make some kind of living without magic, and… well, it would help the name of Snape, too, I was told. The pureblood line, I mean...”

Minerva looked so angry now that he did not dare continue to speak. The witch seemed ready to strike out, so he settled for a slightly apologetic smile and fell silent again, waiting for the metaphorical blow to fall.

It never did.

Minerva exhaled, took one long draw of breath again, and then sighed deeply, seeming to give up on the matter.

“Mawly,” she said, “deliver the message, please.”

The house-elf nodded and vanished. When she had left, Minerva turned to Severus, taking his hand.

“I know,” she said, “that the prospect of becoming a pureblood must sound appealing to you. I know that as well as my mother does. And it is your choice to do with your life as you see fit. But Severus, this is something I must strongly advise against. I cannot tell you what to do with your life, of course, but complex adoption is not one of our kind’s most humane inventions. Losing yourself – losing your entire identity is never good, no matter how bad you think your past was. In fact, because it wasn’t all sunshine and roses, chances are that no Evicimens in the world will be able to give you a happy pureblood past. And I can assure you that, if you get adopted into the pureblood branch of the Snape family, as General Snape’s son, you will be no happier with your memories of early childhood than you are now. Lance would have been a horrible parent. He is all the way down old school pureblood tradition, and that means beating your children into submission, it means raising your sons as wizarding soldiers and your daughters as obedient future wives… why do you think I ended up not marrying him? What do you think did it take to make my awkward, society conforming younger self reject the husband my parents had chosen for me? Precisely the fact that being part of the Snape family is not something you want, Severus, ironic though that statement sounds, considering your actual last name. You don’t _want_ to be a pureblood without magic, trust me! It is such a big difference to being a half-blood squib, you won’t believe it!”

Severus frowned.

“I don’t see the disadvantage.”

Minerva sighed. “You had a Muggle father and a pureblood mother. Surely, you can see that the more powerful a person starts out, the deeper their fall will be?”

Severus scowled. “I don't know. My mother had her 'fall' before I was even born. She decided to hand over all responsibility for our family situation to my father, then. It's not as though I've ever known any different constellation.”

Minerva nodded, looking pensive. “Tell me,” she said, “did you despise your father for not performing any magic?”

This was surprising. She had never asked this in such a direct way and Severus felt obliged to answer truthfully. “No. Why should I? He was born a Muggle. Had no choice in the matter... no control. He didn't even know our ways. He was always just... a man without magic.”

“And did you despise your mother?”

“For migrating into the Muggle world, you mean?” Severus could feel himself getting angry. “For refusing to perform spells in his presence? For hiding my first signs of magic from him? For catering to his Muggle pride at all costs? What do you think?”

“I think it wounded you,” Minerva said quietly. “I don't think you despised her when you were young, hard though your personal circumstances were.”

“She's my mother,” Severus said harshly. “I didn't... show it, perhaps.”

“You did show a certain contempt when you broke off all contact with your parents later,” Minerva observed. “When was that... oh yes, I remember. It was when you found out about her loss of her magic, wasn't it?”

Severus stared, all his anger stopping dead in its track to process what she had just said.

“You... know about that?”

Minerva gave him a sad look and held his arm for a moment.

“I knew your mother well,” she said. “She confided in me when she had her accident and she confided in me when you found out about it – many years later, I might add. We were good friends.” Her voice turned a little wistful. “But she managed to hide her condition well. She was a resourceful woman, your mother.”

“She told you? But she told no one! She didn't tell _me_!”

“As I remember it, you were a highly opinionated youth,” Minerva said, giving him a small smile. “Always so outspoken on the superiority of magic. Nothing unusual for a Slytherin of your background, of course, though most of them do, in fact, despise their non-magic parent. And most purebloods despise squibs, you can trust me on that.”

“I despised my mother for making the wrong choices!” Severus spat. “Not for losing her magic.”

“Yet, you haven't seen her cast a single spell for the majority of your life and yet you decided to break with them only when she revealed the reason to you,” Minerva said quietly.

Severus fell silent. There was some truth in her words, hard though it was to hear. He had not expected anyone to know about this. He would not have guessed at Minerva's intimate knowledge of his family's history. Damn that woman. Damn this family. Her mother was quite the same, after all, knowledgeable of the most intimate details...

“We have to see the situation for what it is,” said Minerva quietly. “Not for what we would like it to be. Halfbloods are better of when they produce squibs – or have an accident like you did, because society doesn't expect much of them in the first place. People don't look to them to uphold the purity of the bloodline, or to produce lots of children. They may do that and rise a little in society's regard, but if they don't, or if they drop out of the family tree altogether, they're just fulfilling everyone's expectations. It's an advantage grown from the deep injustices and disadvantages our society creates for those not born of pure wizarding blood, as they call it. Either way, you don't win.”

“I won,” said Severus sourly. “At the time. I was a Halfblood frequenting pureblood circles. I deceived everyone.”

“That’s not winning,” said Minerva softly, “that’s living a lie.”

“And I can rectify that lie now!” said Severus excitedly. “I am getting the chance of turning that lie into the truth!”

“That isn’t worth becoming a pureblood squib,” said Minerva softly. “Nothing in this world… I’ll tell you something. The device you discovered earlier, with Morgana's help... it could give you a full picture of the scenario. That is why you were trying to use it, is it not? To catch a glimpse?”

“It's useless!” said Severus sharply. “The What-If Device is a Pensieve, essentially, isn't it? It is powered by magic, which I don't have.”

“Actually,” said Minerva, her voice assuming a thoughtful tone, “you might be able to work it anyway.”

 


	25. The What-If-Device

_**Five O'Clock on a Saturday Afternoon...** _

_Diana and I tend to engage in friendly contests where we can. Not explicitly, of course. But we do compare our successes and we do compare our respective range of influence. Her main means of broadening hers has always consisted in just marrying her most influential business partners, of course. Having a husband with whom I am highly satisfied, I pursue other interests, such as the forging of true friendship among my allies._

_Terentia will insist on discussing the Fates' future course of action. She has no subtlety, except that she knows precisely where to place her offspring in order to make their life easy for them. Something will have to be created for young Livius. He is underused in his current position._

_Meredith Robertson, of course, makes life very hard for all three of us through her affiliation with the newly arising British Wizarding Army. I am thinking of allowing her to make the acquaintance of someone capable to keep her in check. Someone, perhaps, whose metamorphmagical grandchild has turned into a celebrated war hero overnight... but no. She is not securely loyal enough – yet._

_Am I resentful towards my daughter's behaviour in recent weeks and months? Absolutely. She provides me with difficulty after difficulty, in spite of the half-blood Prince's sudden and unexpected development. He is now more than just a Diricawl around the neck and has proven quite useful, actually – and may still do so in future. When he finally comes to his senses about the adoption, I shall at last be able to repay the Snape family for their invaluable discretion back in the days when Minerva foolishly rejected their youngest son's marriage offer._

~*~

****Not twenty minutes later, the two former colleagues sat down on either side of the round attic table on which Severus’s Pensieve had previously stood. Minerva had collected a few pieces of parchment from her father, regarding the topic of dimension-travelling, as he had called it, and was studying them intently, her square glasses close to the tip of her nose, one hand holding a quill, taking notes every now and then.

All in all, Severus sensed a level of professionalism, which his visit up here with Morgana and Toke had greatly lacked. Minerva actually seemed to know what she was doing and it was reassuring not to be the only person in the room who knew what he was doing.

“His instructions say,” she said, pushing her glasses up and looking up at him, “that the What-If-Device works a little like a time-turner, only that it uses the multiple universe theory and will transport you into a different reality, which you can influence by determining certain parameters by means of a few words. It's a reality that will never have existed because when you return to the point and moment where you came from, you're closing a time loop. Does that make sense to you? I find it hard to conceive, actually, but it is irrelevant for our endeavour. It says here that there is no magic involved for the user, which has to do with the way it was designed. Some magical artefacts can be used by Muggles, of course, thus our need for a Ministry department dealing with such matters.”

Her words did not do much to improve Severus’s current gloominess, but the device promised to grant the much desired peek into a world where he had been born as a pureblood, something he had always been imagining, and he grinned sheepishly despite himself. Minerva had said this was possible. Now, she was working on making it happen.

“It says here,” she informed him, going back to her father's charts and descriptions, “that you would participate, temporarily, in the life of this other Severus. You would use the other world like a pool for non-swimmers, so to speak, only temporarily and always under the constraints of the device. It's part of the device's safety measures. A little like learning how to fly on a safety leash. Have you had to undergo that torture, too? Rolanda’s predecessor was very adamant that it was the best of all methods for learning the art.”

Severus shook his head. Minerva pursed her lips.

“Oh no, you were already taught by Rolanda, weren’t you? Be glad.”

She perused the parchment further and eventually stood up.

“What we are going to do,” she explained, “is to set the device to a very limited time, say… an hour,” she touched two of the runes with her left hand, “and we’ll change your blood status as a parameter. – People have often asked for this, so my father built it in. Don’t ask me how. He is brilliant, in his very own peculiar way.”

“Did your father build this device for a particular purpose?” Severus enquired, unsurprised that Morgana’s story had been incomplete to say the least.

“Oh,” said Minerva, a little awkward all of a sudden, “well, I suppose you might say that, at the time, it was an accidental discovery. The Ministry refused to patent it due to its ‘highly destructive potential’, as they put it. This happens a lot of the time with my father’s discoveries, I have to say. He doesn’t have a lot of friends among the older, more traditional pureblood families, so they interfere with his work where they can.”

“And this is part of his work?”

“Not strictly speaking, of course. While dimension-travel is one of the many areas researched by the Ministry of Magic, my father has always been more interested in facts. He is, first and foremost, a practical historian.”

“Minerva,” said Severus slowly, trying to scrape together bits and pieces of what he remembered about the Ministry of Magic’s internal structure, “is your father an Unspeakable?”

His friend gave him a surprised look and then smiled.

“Why, yes, Severus. I thought that was obvious.”

“In principle, perhaps. But I thought that his work would be more… well, secret than this.”

“Oh, it is highly classified,” said Minerva with a frown. “Which is the reason for the enchantments… oh, but you won’t have noticed.”

Severus raised an eyebrow and waited.

“I’m sorry,” said Minerva, turning a little red while continuing to press around on the brim and the runes of the What-If Device. “I never thought of telling you this because I never feared that you might go and have any lengthy discussion with anyone outside the family any time soon – for obvious reasons. Most terms and statements one might use to describe my father’s work are enchanted so that if you use them in conversation with an outsider, they will either not believe you or fail to understand any of it in that their brain won’t be able to process it. A handy incantation, actually. It works similar to what they use during Quidditch World Cup games to deter Muggles from entering the premises. Only that this is on a mental level.”

Severus was fascinated. So this was how Minerva dealt with Morgana walking freely between her grandparents’ home and the wizarding world. He would not have been surprised if this specific safety measure  _had_ been implemented in this specific way primarily for Morgana’s sake.

“I admire your father’s foresight,” he therefore stated and Minerva flashed him a smile.

“By the way,” she said eventually, getting up at last and pushing the piece of parchment aside, “don’t ever tip the box over. It would be a great nuisance for my father to fix the results.”

“I was told something to that effect,” replied Severus, vaguely amused. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” confirmed the witch. “This is it. All we have to do now is enter the other world.”

“We?”

“Obviously.”

“You are coming along?”

“Yes, Severus. What do you think? You have no magic and will be thrown into a situation entirely unfamiliar to you. Who would protect you?”

“Is this... device... dangerous?”

“Well, to a certain degree, yes. The situation you are entering is going to be quite realistic. Just for an hour, you'd be quite helpless without the option to stop it by means of magic.”

“You make it sound as though I was an invalid.”

“Well, strictly speaking that’s what you are, Severus.”

Minerva took her glasses and wiped them while growing very serious. “I know it is not a nice thing to be told, but using magic devices without someone close by who can stop the process if the need arises, well, that is inadvisable to say the least, as I try to tell my students on a frequent basis.”

Severus watched the What-If Device for a while, hesitating to agree but knowing that he should, and eventually nodded glumly.

“Excellent,” said Minerva pleasantly. “I also expect it will be quite entertaining, by the way. Not that you get the idea this might be some act of charity.”

Severus gave her a puzzled look, which made the smile on his friend’s face disappear again.

“I apologise,” she said quickly. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

They stepped into the box, on Minerva’s instruction, and took each other’s hand. Severus suddenly thought he was feeling his magic return, but then realised that this was a different kind of sensation, more deeply based in human nature and common to Muggles and wizards alike.

Minerva squeezed his hand lightly, spoke a few words and they were catapulted through space and time (and whatnot) through a channel not unlike floo powder one between two fireplaces that stood extremely far apart. Severus suspected that this was due to the imperfect state of the non-patented device rather than an inherent need to travel through a colourful tunnel in order to access alternate universes. Although you never knew, of course.

They emerged from an actual fireplace of a smallish, square office that featured heavy, black furniture. A broad desk stood in its middle, fit for a man of Hagrid's size, and several thick, wooden bookshelves with only two small windows squeezed in between them. There was an odd air of 19th century largesse about the place, but everything apart from the windows was actually a little oversized, not just figuratively, Severus thought. He gave the desk a close look. Large and dark-surfaced, it made him recoil unconsciously, perhaps due to the suggested size of the person who regularly used it. Minerva followed closely.

“Ah,” she said, looking around. “I thought so.”

Severus turned. “You thought what?”

“This is Camden,” said Minerva earnestly. “I didn’t specify the place because I thought the time would be more crucial to the experience and you can never specify both, of course. The other Severus – you, in effect, arrived here, using this fireplace, too, I imagine, on the day I specified. You are sixteen, by the way, and this,” she gestured around, “will be implanted in your brain as the place where you grew up, _if_ you go for a complex adoption. It is a stationary army point in Meta-Camden – an outdated facility with little personal comfort, where Lance himself grew up and lives to this very day.”

“And you could not have chosen a slightly later point in time for this undertaking?”

“Sixteen will be a valuable lesson. I thought it prudent to let you have the _full_ pureblood squib experience. At sixteen, Lance would still have been responsible for you in case of a squibcident. I just hope I put this in correctly...”

Severus looked down himself, a trace of amusement on his lips.

“I don’t look sixteen.”

“You will to your parents,” said Minerva quietly. “Though I cannot say if Virbia is still alive in this world or not. She would not be in ours, I think. I told you that a pureblood childhood isn't a guarantee for endless happiness. Quite the contrary, perhaps. Who knows, you might find that you prefer your own parents to Lance and Virbia, squibcident or not."

Severus frowned, hearing heavy footsteps from outside the office door.

"Challenge accepted," he muttered uncomfortably.”

 


	26. The Pureblood Experience

**Half Past Five on a Saturday Afternoon...**

_...I shall not pretend to consider myself unfortunate. The Snape family has proved very unstable – aggressive even, at times. It must be the giant blood after all, even though the Field-Marshal denies the possibility of negative inheritable influence, of course._

_Another, less pleasant option is my husband's theory of degenerating blood lines. I am not much in favour of it but it would be foolish to remain blind to a potential threat through the more incestuous links, particularly in recent years. So this is another thing where complex adoption would come in very useful._

_I cannot imagine why young Prince would hesitate. There is the problem of the Prince family dying out, of course, but obviously in the eyes of pureblood society this has already happened. We set great store by names, after all. Which brings me to the topic of Livius Toke. Perhaps the most interesting figure in wizarding society to-date, given that his matrilineal family would make him assume the name of whatever wife he might choose. Now, I am sure there was a certain, rather high up family who suffer from having produced only female heirs recently and would love to see their name continued on the family tree..._

~*~

The door opened suddenly and the two of them jumped in surprise. Although a flood of light entered the room at first, it was instantly obscured by the outline of a massive figure in the door frame. Against the light, General Snape looked even more imposing than usual, though not much different from his other self in the real world, Severus thought.

The man took a few steps into the room, outstretched a plate-like hand towards Minerva, and she took it with a smile.

“Minerva.”

“General Snape,” she said, a small smile playing around her lips. “What a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is always mine,” said the general earnestly. Not a single muscle on his face betrayed whether or not he recognised Severus or, indeed, whether he was happy to see either of them under his roof. “Shall we proceed to the kitchen?”

He held the door open for Minerva and Severus to slip through and followed them along a short corridor into a very bright hallway. The floor here was covered with lighter material, laminate, perhaps, Severus thought, or even parquet flooring. He could never tell the difference. It was remarkable, however, how clean and orderly everything looked. Even a peek into what was obviously the living-room on the left hand side told him that this household was kept in a similar style as Vesta McGillivray’s premises, either by means of a House-Elf or by means of too much living space for too few people, which thus never got used.

The kitchen was smaller than expected. It was to the right of the living-room and featured a single window and a few ordinary pieces of furniture. Against his will, Severus acknowledged a gush of disappointment. Even being a wealthy pureblood obviously did not mean that you were always treated to a grand manor.

When Severus and Minerva had settled down on opposite ends of the square kitchen table, General Snape summoned a teapot and three small cups in the style Severus had grown accustomed to under Minerva’s roof. He served the tea and eventually sat down beside her, looking as void of emotion as ever. Severus began to feel that there was something wrong.

“I spoke to Thomas,” the general opened the conversation after a small moment’s quiet sipping. “He agrees that an official complaint would stir too much trouble. Parents would want to know what your students were doing in Hogsmeade at that time of the day and why they were not supervised.”

Minerva frowned. Severus could see that she was trying, as he was, to match this piece of information with her recollections of her real memories of the past. He wondered  whether Johann Fux’s law of magical counterpoint applied here, which said that in cases of free movement in time or space magic would allow as little change as possible and try to fix reality in a way that resembled all similar situations closest.

“That is good,” his friend eventually chose to say, an accommodating smile on her face. “Thank you for speaking to him, Lance.”

“Well, I insisted, of course,” said the soldier darkly, not noticing her obliviousness to the situation. “But you were right, a simple letter would have been sufficient. He is a very cooperative man. Perseus, Orion and I decided to split the costs for the damage. Thomas hasn’t decided, however, on whether or not to rebuild the Porlock’s Inn.”

And as though a thousand torches had suddenly been lit in his head, Severus remembered an incident from his days at school when Potter and Black had duelled him in the streets of Hogsmeade after a spring weekend outside the teachers’ strict reign. Through an enormous amount of bad luck, at the time, stray spells had hit the thatched roof of one of the old buildings and one of them had interfered with the house’s security enchantments, which had caused a big explosion. Something he, Severus, had later been made responsible for. Not that it had mattered. His father, being a Muggle, had not understood that his son could actually be responsible for blowing up an entire building and had refused to even acknowledge the matter. Hogwarts had been held responsible in the end and had presumably paid for the damage, Severus thought. Minerva had been livid, he remembered, side-glancing at her to find out if her memory served as well as his.

To his surprise, she looked a little amused.

“The Porlock’s Inn!” she stated. “Goodness, yes. I mean, I feel rather certain that he won’t rebuild the pub, actually. But I happen to know that Albus’s brother has expressed an interest to settle in the vicinity. Maybe someone should speak to him…”

Severus gave her a frown and she stopped. Yes, he, too, remembered that the place where once the Porlock’s Inn had stood now belonged to one Aberforth Dumbledore and featured a rather shabby tavern of the name of “Hog’s Head”, in line with all the hog themed premises surrounding the castle. There was no need to draw the general’s attention to the fact that she knew the future of the place, however. The situation itself was still grave enough.

If the soldier noticed his friend's amusement, he took no notice of it.

“It isn’t strictly speaking relevant what Thomas decides in the end,” he said grimly. “What I consider relevant is which consequences the school will draw from this. The Hogsmeade weekends are clearly an unnecessary hazard…”

“The weekends remain,” said Minerva firmly. Severus gave her a surprised look. She seemed familiar with this discussion. “I have been very clear on this, Lance. And Albus agrees with me.”

“I know he does,” said the soldier sternly. “And I disapprove. Dumbledore is proving quite a liability for the school. You know that they say he is responsible for some of the killings that happened in recent weeks? The one at the shopping centre in Middlesbrough?”

Minerva stared at him. “But those were Death Eater attacks!”

Severus frowned. Yes, those had been Death Eater attacks, in a manner of speaking. Lucius had bragged of them years and years later. Twenty people had died – two of them wizards.

“They were,” confirmed the soldier now. “A lot of us are holding Dumbledore responsible for this Death Eater nonsense. Now, I know,” he said, raising a hand to keep Minerva from interrupting, “that you set great store by the man. I also know that you think and that he probably thinks he is acting in everyone’s best interest. But his actions – his antagonism towards pureblood society and our most well-established traditions is responsible for a lot of discord among our kind. If he didn’t provide a serious threat for traditional pureblood values, no one would feel the need to assassinate his followers. That is all I am saying.”

Severus looked at Minerva, who seemed lost for words. “It’s still the Death Eaters who commit the actual murder,” he jumped in, repeating words which, long ago, Dumbledore had given him to chew on. Yes, the Dark Lord was giving orders, but what would happen, if no one obeyed?

A sharp slap met the back of his head and initially, while regaining his senses, he wondered where the sensation had come from. Catching Minerva’s eye, she mouthed ‘pureblood’ and he understood this to mean that, while the soldier and she could discuss these things, he, as a sixteen-year-old, was not supposed to express his views on the matter. General Snape was obviously used to communicating these things non-verbally.

The incident seemed to remind Minerva of what they had actually come for and while Severus rubbed the back of his head, she steered the conversation away from the question of what the Death Eater were or weren’t responsible for and towards societal matters. Severus listened with interest. Most of what General Snape disclosed was no news or at least no surprise to him. As a pureblood, you attended regular societal gatherings, worked your way up in society by knowing the right people and behaving in the right way at certain important points in your life. As a pureblood Snape you aspired to becoming a soldier, and if you could not, for reasons of handicap or psyche, pursue this path, you sought after one of the more prestigious jobs within the Ministry of Magic.

As in Minerva and  Severus’s reality, the general’s wife had indeed died a few years earlier, as Minerva found out through a number of cleverly chosen questions. But, Severus thought, the feeling of losing your mother was something he was already accustomed to. And what difference did it make if you were fourteen or forty when it happened?

With glee, he also realised that there were points at which the general had actually stood up for him against Potter’s and Black’s bullying in this world, and he suddenly realised that his entire life at Hogwarts might have taken quite a different turn, had the two of them not had the everlasting excuse of looking down on him for reasons of blood status and lack of wizarding knowledge.

“I think,” said Minerva at some point, sounding very warm and accommodating again, “that you are handling the situation very well, Lance. I would never have expected you to deal with all this so effectively. And staying home during the holidays to look after Severus isn’t proving as much of a nuisance as you initially thought, is it?”

The soldier confirmed that it wasn’t.

“Well,” said Minerva, giving Severus a warm look, “I suppose I might have been wrong assuming...”

The general side-glanced. “He is doing well. The Porlock incident is regrettable, but it is nothing we can't deal with, is it, son?”

Severus shrugged and nodded. He glanced at the kitchen clock, wondering how much time had already passed and if he would get the chance of seeing his room. On cue, the general rose from his seat.

“It is almost eight,” he said. “Minerva, you will excuse us for a moment? Help yourself to some more tea, if you like. We'll have just a brief discussion tonight, allowing Severus to go to bed early.”

Severus grinned. He wasn't sure if being back in a teenager's position was entirely to his taste, but it certainly seemed to confuse his friend, who looked at General Snape with a puzzled expression and then gave a hesitant nod. “Discussion... well, quite naturally. I shall wait here, shall I?”

“If you would,” said the general in his usual non-committal tone of voice, gesturing Severus to follow him outside.

Following the general back to his office, Severus glanced back to exchange another brief look with Minerva, who seemed thoughtful all of a sudden, and not at all as unconcerned as she had moments before. He allowed himself to be steered around the corner and eventually pushed into the stuffy room with its dark, looming desk once more.

General Snape closed the door behind him with a small thud. There was no sound coming from outside or, in fact, from anywhere inside the room. The general stood with his arms crossed, looking down at him expectantly, unmoving, unblinking, his expression unfathomable.

Severus suddenly realised that the topic of his magic had not come up at all in the previous conversation. Minerva had said that he was magicless in this time and reality, but did the general know this? Had he, perhaps, found out only recently and was harnessing boiling anger or hatred behind his emotionless facade? Severus assumed Minerva knew what she was doing, but what if this general was as insane as some of the parents of the Slytherin offspring Severus had been teaching for the past twelve years? What if he had led him here with the intention of killing his magicless offspring? What if 'discussion' actually meant 'disposal'?

The general cleared his throat. “Well? Let's get the matter over with.”

Severus hesitated.

"Ah, yes. Perhaps you might want to remind me what exactly this 'matter' actually is..."

"Don't play stupid, Severus," said the soldier sternly, remaining where he was, less than a yard away from his supposed son, but not touching him. "I _shall_ remind you. You know the drill. Misbehaviour will not remain unpunished, ignoring the rules gains you a beating. Is there anything you... what is _wrong_ with you today?"

Severus realised that his expression must have changed against his will. Perhaps he was sixteen in this time rather more thoroughly than he had anticipated. Giving away what was going on inside his head was something he had been prone to during his time at Hogwarts – not so much in later years, however.

"Nothing," he therefore said quickly, not even trying to deny his reaction, simply deciding that, next time, he would pay more attention to conceal it. And then, since the general seemed to be expecting more, "I mean, nothing, sir."

"You are behaving like a ten-year-old," observed General Snape, shaking his head, and he marched over to his desk in two long strides. "Really, Severus, it is no wonder you blew up that inn. If you show the same lack of self-control outside as you do in here, I shouldn't wonder how those boys were able to provoke you into this kind of misconduct. Come here!"

Mesmerised, Severus obeyed the general's brief indication. On the other side of the desk, the soldier opened a drawer, which featured a variety of thin, wooden canes, their handles decorated with carvings or crude imagery of heroism and wizarding warfare. His initial reaction was to back away as he remembered these implements and their use from ancient, long forgotten times at school, but even in his semi-sixteen-year-old state he was quick-minded enough to realise that any attempt of flight would be futile and that this, perhaps, was precisely why Minerva had led him here, to this specific point in time, in the first place: this was, perhaps, what he was supposed to see.

"Take your pick," said the older Snape generously. The entire situation seemed nothing more to him than a routine procedure and he clearly expected his son to feel the same about it. Perhaps, Severus thought, open and willing to learn, he would have considered this normal had he been born a pureblood. He had considered his mother's refusal to use her magic and his father's subliminal jealousy of her abilities normal at the time. Children got used to a lot of strange things where their parents were involved.

"Today," the soldier added when Severus continued to hesitate, his voice assuming a warning tone. Severus blinked and decided that, if Minerva wanted to dissuade him from adapting this identity, it would take more than a few cuts from a cane. If you had survived the Cruciatus Curse, other kinds of physical torture seemed an easy challenge, in comparison. He chose the shortest implement available, vaguely remembering that short wands were said to imply limited magic powers. Whatever the power of these objects was... you never knew how much they might have in common with wands.

General Snape nodded slowly, deliberately. He seemed surprised at the choice but not displeased. Severus watched the other man's face intently, who gazed back eventually, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day?"

Severus frowned and eventually put his hands on the desk, unsure which position was the one this reality's Severus would have taken. He threw the general a calculating look, who finally seemed to lose his patience, took a single step forward and grabbed him by the neck, pushing him down onto the cold, black, wooden surface.

"Do it properly! What  _is_ the matter with you?"

Severus froze under the iron grip. A sudden sensation of shame washed over him like a wave of silver strands following the destruction of a Pensieve. Emotions that were not his own, memories, as real as his own but alien in content, flooded his consciousness and would have made him lose his balance, had not the general locked him in a firm grip on the desktop. Severus felt deeply humiliated, all of a sudden, at having gone against wizarding law when his father had trusted him not to. He felt embarrassed that he had let his family down in such an appalling manner and realized with sudden clarity the justification in what his father would do – was forced to do – to rectify his wrong-doing.

With a gasp, he came to again and struggled against the taller man's grip, which wasn't a physical restraint so much as an attack – a magical attack, he realized, not unlike the use of a mind-addling potion... or the Imperius Curse.

Severus tried to gain control of his thoughts, tried to sort his own thoughts from those that were pushed upon him. He tried to discern between his own emotions and the general's, but could not seem to understand this new, unexpected kind of magic. While withstanding the Imperius Curse had been possible, especially with the help of skills attained in the study of Occlumency, withstanding this magic was like trying to fight a tidal wave of such magnitude that all you could do was watch in terror as it washed over you, devouring your every thought, and everything you were.

And even in his drowing state Severus realized with horror that, by using magic on him in this manner, General Snape was probably burning away any remaining bit of theurgic power inside of him. If there had been any trace of his magic left, this was probably the end of it. Another gush of horror, of pain and deep shame washed over him. He was a squib – and would remain one for the rest of his life.

And suddenly, the flood receded. The soldier had loosened his grip, perhaps confident that his son would not struggle now, perhaps confused by the sudden rush of emotions visible on Severus's face. Instinctively, Severus reached for his wand in his pocket and with the feeling of its sleek, smooth handle in his hand, rolled aside to assume a defensive position next to the desk and to uselessly point his wand at the taller man. General Snape looked perplexed, the short cane balancing in his hand for a moment before being replaced with a thick oak wand in one, elegant movement.

“Severus... why in the name of...”

“I'll pass,” said Severus, panting. “If this is how purebloods grow up, just literally absorbing their parents' viewpoints... no thank you. I like to keep a clear head.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” The soldier seemed baffled by something. Impatient, yes, but not as much as before, nor angry or hostile, Severus thought. Unusually enough never hostile.

“I want to speak to Minerva,” he said, not thinking this through, but realizing so only when another slap met his face, making his ears ring and his blood boil. The renewed physical contact brought with it another flash of shame and a feeling of insignificance, which disappeared as quickly as it had entered his mind, but left a bitter taste in its wake.

“That is _Professor McGonagall_ to you!”

Another attempt to master him, Severus forced himself to think – though perhaps not a conscious one? The motion seemed instinctive to the general, as though steered by some deep instinct. At the same time, Severus could see some sort of struggle on his face. He wanted to do this – and didn't. And he didn't seem fully aware of the effect these interactions had on his son.

Severus struggled to keep his mind clear. “Don't touch me,” he pleaded. “Don't... I can't think...”

“Severus, this is childish. We can talk in the morning, if you must, but first I _will_ be obeyed.”

“No! This is complicated, not childish! If you would just listen...”

“I _will_ be obeyed,” the soldier said, with a voice not quite his own. Severus felt a cold shiver run down his back. “I will not be made a fool of.”

“And I will not be made a puppet!” Severus snapped. “Not by you, or any other pureblood! _Don't_ touch me!”

He realized it with a pang. This is what being pure-blood would have been like. He would have grown to be Lady McGillivray's plaything. He would have taken over General Snape's views – not just the normal way all children did with their parents. He would literally have absorbed them with every physical encounter and she would have been able to use him to her advantage because she knew the soldier and she knew how to play people, simple as that. And he, Severus, had almost fallen for it.

“I don't know what has gotten into you tonight,” said General Snape slowly, deliberately advancing now. “But let me tell you what is going to happen. You will put down your wand. You will then take your punishment. Afterwards, you will go to bed while I have some tea and a few more words with your teacher who was kind enough to escort you home in her private time. And if you deem it necessary, you can speak to me and apologize again in the morning.”

And he outstretched his hand again, slowly, as though offering a handshake, clearly expecting Severus to remain still and let him take hold of his neck again.

 


	27. The Squib Experience

**Six O'Clock on a Saturday Afternoon...**

_...The worst thing about my daughter is that she can be extremely naïve when it comes to judging pureblood motives. She misjudged young Caelian Snape's intentions (and potential) in his time, and she blatantly ignores my own well-meaning advice. The one person about whom she was always right, I notice, is Lucius Malfoy. The little skunk. Sucking up to Diana like this in order to get back into my good graces? My dear man, this will not happen. Don't look at me as though you expect a smile. The day you receive my smile will be the day Minerva decides to move out of the manor and into her own home._

_Look at him showing off pictures of his son. The proud parent. My dear, you have not mastered the subtlety required to play with the top contestants for pureblood society leadership. I think it is about time I had a brief exchange with Diana so as to demonstrate that we are on the same boat in this._

_Goodness, but there is Ignatius Mulciber again – a funny man, hard to read... well, for some. With him, it is difficult to tell whether he is still available because of some quirk of his own or whether his mother scares away any potential bride with that charming personality of hers. Yes, dear, you deserve an approving nod. Merlin knows, you must have suffered enough in life with her breathing down your neck._

_Ridiculous that Minerva should be looking at the family tree first and suspect everyone and everything of having a relation to the Death Eaters, what with her ideals of accepting everyone for who they are. As though a person's affiliation with the wrong kind could not be remedied very easily. Just look at young Malfoy and how well he integrated into society again – even though I'll freely admit that I do not trust him again as yet..._

**~*~**

The silence was broken by more than three voices exploding all at once, breaking the tension that had filled General Snape's study only moments before.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Unsurprised, Severus found himself instantly disarmed.

On an interesting note, so did General Snape.

Severus looked around, panicked relief written all over his face. The door had opened quietly, giving Minerva a chance to see what was going on, for she was not, it seemed, so naïve as to understand 'discuss' to imply talking after all – as he, Severus, had been. As usual, Minerva was one step ahead of him in matters of pureblood society, Severus told himself, breathing a sigh of relief and taking hold of the black chair's armrest.

Minerva stood very still, her wand directed at an unmoving, astonished-looking general.

"This is inacceptable, Lance," she then said quietly. "I thought you had changed, but apparently I was mistaken. I shall take the boy off your hands now until you see reason. Severus, we are leaving."

The soldier seemed too baffled to speak. Severus thought he was probably too polite to make an instant dive for his wand. For some reason, he seemed bound by the rules of pureblood society, and, ironically, so was Minerva. She took the man's hand gently, replacing his wand with a flick of her own.

"Please," she said. "Do not detain us."

"What is wrong with him?" General Snape suddenly burst out and, to Severus's great relief, placed his wand back inside the pockets of his uniform. "I demand to know why my son thinks he isn't a pureblood! And why can't I feel his magic when he performs the simplest of spells?"

"But don't you know?" asked Minerva, halting in mid-movement. "Lance, don't you know? Severus has no magic. The accident left him with heavy damage to his theurgic system. You felt nothing because he said the words but never performed the spell."

There was a small pause. General Snape had very clearly _not_ known and now looked from Minerva to Severus and back at her again in startled dismay. "What do you mean he has no magic?"

Minerva frowned. "He... the Porlock incident was classified as a squibcident. Have I not... were you not notified?"

The general blanched. "I was not."

Minerva's eyebrows pulled into a single black line. She pocketed her wand to take out what looked like one of the What-If-Device's runes, only smaller, examined it for a while, and then let it slip back in the pocket of her robes, looking concerned. The item did not seem to tell her what she would have liked to know.

"Because of the explosion?" the general asked. Minerva nodded.

Severus watched the two of them, her facing the situation with her usual calm determination, him listening to what she had to say with all hardness draining away from his face when he finally understood. Severus suddenly had an inkling of why the two of them worked so well together as friends in real life.

"I didn't realise..." began the soldier and then stopped, becoming more pale by the minute. And then Severus understood that _this_ situation, albeit a little unplanned, was probably the intended outcome of their little educational journey. At least he assumed that the general's current reaction was likely what Minerva had bargained for when entering her parameters. He watched the part-giant's face closely. Was there disgust in it? Humiliation? Or would he simply hate his son for the rest of his life? Any of these might have proved Minerva's point... from a pureblood point of view.

"Slughorn mentioned that there was something wrong..." said the general in an unusually low voice, "but I would not have thought... never have imagined..."

"It is permanent," said Minerva quickly, using the intensity of the moment to impress on her friend the hopelessness of the situation. "We had him tested."

There was a long and uncomfortable pause. Eventually, and to Severus's great discomfort, the general put one heavy hand on his supposed son's shoulder. There was no magic attack this time, but an odd feeling of someone holding together all his strength with all his might. Severus shuddered. Neither could look the other in the eye, it seemed, but the general's voice was warmer than before, and less demanding.

"This is more punishment than any man – or boy – deserves," he said, growing a little hoarse. After a long pause and a deep sigh he then added, "You may embrace me," as though concluding a ritual. Severus stared at him, thinking – hoping that he had, perhaps, misheard. And before he could react, he found himself squeezed against a very large, uniformed chest. The general's entire body, he noticed, was shaking with unreleased tension. The hands around Severus's head and shoulders were trembling so much that it threw his body in all kinds of directions – rather an uncomfortable experience, all in all. Severus felt a sensation of great relief surge through his body, but realised at an instant that the feeling was coming from the outside again. He could suddenly localize its origin in the fingertips of the other man, who seemed unaware of any magic happening between them, and moved away from the embrace instinctively, uncertain of what to think. His eyes met Minerva's, who looked worried and he inwardly applauded her talent of always choosing the most theatrical and dramatic way of demonstrating whatever she wished to convey. It was a teacher's knack, he knew.

A moment later, he found himself face to face with General Snape whose cold, grey eyes were inches away from his own as he bent down, both his oversized hands clutching his supposed son's shoulders.

"If this is to be your fate," the soldier said quietly, in a voice unlike any Severus had ever heard, "I shall do whatever I find in my power to help you bear it. No one shall lay hand on you in this state, I promise you that. I shall find a way of dealing with this. You can rely on me completely, understood?"

Severus nodded, lost for words. Minerva, too, stared at her old friend, apparently speechless.

"Good," said the general quietly. "You should get you upstairs then. It is getting late."

"Well, I... I am glad the beating is out of the picture," came Minerva's tense voice from the door. "Lance... I can assure you that Hogwarts will do anything in its power..."

"Hogwarts has done all it can for the boy," the soldier cut in. "He is no longer your responsibility now. We shall have to cut all ties. That will be best. We should also discuss whether to withdraw him from society unobtrusively or by means of a fake death. Are you sure that his system is entirely out?"

Severus flinched.

"You know Madame Pomfrey, I assume?" Minerva replied. She was visibly uncomfortable with this topic. Severus assumed that she found it inappropriate to talk about his state of health, which was very bad in both worlds. On a more positive note, however, he noticed that the conversation seemed now to have reached a tone which Minerva found less surprising. She had known the general would want to hide Severus from view. And, it seemed, she had thought this would be news to Severus...

"I shall floo over immediately and seek her advice," said the soldier gravely. "If you would be so kind as to stay for another short while? I shall have to quickly get word to M'bwa, making Robertson sort out some of my paperwork for me. I don't suppose I'll get very far with it today."

Minerva nodded. "Whatever you need."

The soldier thanked her, instructed Severus to retire and then left. The two former colleagues breathed a sigh of relief, checked their time and eventually decided to go and withdraw to Severus's room for the remaining minutes of their time. On the way upstairs, neither of them spoke.

They stepped into a small chamber, which magically lit as they entered and contained a few pieces of furniture only, namely a bed, two shelves and a desk, all of them neat and tidy as Severus's belongings tended to be, but also expensive and new, very unlike his childhood possessions in the real world. Everything was chosen with little care for detail but more with a focus on practicality. Severus found himself questioning the need for expensive furniture in a teenager's room, but told himself that, as a pure-blood youngster he would likely not even have noticed it.

"Three more minutes before we leave again," said Minerva, throwing a look at her watch and taking out the runes from her pocket again. Both of them watched each other with interest, though none of them spoke. Severus was surprised at Minerva's silence. He was beginning to think that something was amiss, but could not tell what it was.

"Are you... dissatisfied?" he eventually enquired. "With the outcome of this trip?"

"I am surprised," said Minerva quietly. "I did not expect Lance to be this compassionate towards your state."

"He is planning to hide me away forever without contact to anyone from our world," replied Severus. "I daresay that should satisfy your aim of showing me the consequences of being a pureblood squib."

"I did not expect him to take it so well," said Minerva slowly. "I thought he would drop you and not speak to you again at all, to be honest. It is what my mother would do should I lose my magic, I expect. Even though I would still have my father to stand up for me, of course. Most purebloods think that squibs... well, they treat the condition as though it was contagious. This is the reason Albus hired Argus Filch as a caretaker. He wanted students to grow up under the same roof as a squib and thus demonstrate to them that they were treating their squib children and siblings horribly wrong. Lance... I have to say he reacted less pureblood-like to your state than I expected. After he realised that there was something wrong, of course. I must apologise for everything that came before, though I imagine that was very educational."

"Indeed it was," said Severus quietly. He was browsing through the books on the shelf next to 'his' bed (a mixture of the _Wizarding Nursery Rhymes_ and the _101 Potions for Beginners_ kind) avoiding her gaze. "You didn't anticipate the nature of this... 'discussion' either, I presume?" he eventually made himself ask.

"Of course not!" exclaimed Minerva, looking horror-struck. "But I must say, Severus, this makes for a fairly good impression of what pure-blood life in the seventies was like. Obviously, I thought Lance knew... obviously, I didn't expect him to... I can promise you that I would never knowingly have put you in that position. Thank goodness I trusted my instincts and came to eavesdrop."

Severus frowned and returned _Self-Made Spells and Enchantments_ to its place on the shelf. "These beatings," he eventually said when he could no longer postpone it, "they're not just that, though, are they? They're magical?"

“How do you mean?”

“I got a sense that I was being attacked,” Severus pondered, “magically attacked, I mean. As though he was... you know... using mind magic.”

“Lance and mind magic?” Minerva gave him a perturbed look. “What are you talking about? He is a part giant, so he has some natural Occlumency skills, but other than that...?”

“He seemed to be pushing his thoughts onto me,” Severus attempted to explain. “I felt like my attitude towards the Porlock Inn was changing, even though I have no stake in it in this time.”

Minerva pondered this for a moment.

“Well, I suppose that may be a side-effect of this kind of 'discussion',” she said. “This is a mere hypothesis, of course, but as far as I am told, the theurgic system has a few sensitive spots, face, fingertips and certain parts of your neck among them. I wouldn't be surprised if, especially in your state, the holding down part left its mark beyond the intended effect.”

“It is a bit of a crude educational method,” Severus said darkly, “either way.”

"You have seen nothing," replied his friend, offering her hand for the journey back while watching her clock. "I can assure you that the results of an old-fashioned pure-blood education on little boys tend to be disastrous. The rigidity, the high expectations, the means… goodness, the canings leave atrocious effects. And the psychological scarring..."

"How do you know all these things?" Severus asked in confusion. "How could you anticipate this alternate reality?

"Severus, please," said Minerva as they were slowly beginning to dissolve into thin air, "what do you think I have been doing during the last four decades? Why do you think I was so sure that Hogwarts would beg me to return within a very short time span? There have always been students who were raised in the old-fashioned way, which entails both, bodily harm and long-lasting psychological scars. And who do you think has always paid attention to these students and their problems? People like Damocles Belby? Amando Dippet?" They landed in the middle of McGillivray Manor's attic with a thud and a hiss. Minerva coughed, a little cloud of blue dust leaving her mouth and nostrils, and then finished her list, "Albus Dumbledore?"

The cloud them made Severus sneeze, which gave him time to consider her words. "Well, Dumbledore, surely," he then said. "He always cared for his students."

"Yes," said Minerva slowly, choosing her words carefully. "Albus Dumbledore cared for his _most talented_ students. He took a special interest in _Harry Potter_ , for instance, because he was the subject of a very important prophecy. He took a special interest in Tom Riddle, at the time, or so his portrait tells me, because he saw himself in the ambitious, young man and wanted to prevent him from making the same mistakes. I expect dealing with someone whom he could compare to his younger self was an empowering sensation, otherwise I really cannot say what it is that motivates senior members of our male staff to play mentor for specially chosen individual boys. You, of course, Albus chose because of your great aptitude in the subjects of Occlumency and Legilimency. Hagrid, I believe, is a stellar example of how Albus treated students he considered only moderately talented. He was compassionate towards them, of course, but once he could be sure they were not in any kind of immediate danger, he let other people deal with them. It is recognising the need of the not-oh-so-special ones that has always been his weakness."

Minerva paused, as though to invite questions. Severus continued to look thoughtful, making his former colleague sigh and brush some dust off her robes.

"You don't believe me?"

"I have trouble believing that things are really as bad in all the old families," said Severus slowly. "Slytherin was full of pureblood children and I've never encountered problems along these lines. Whatever hardships pure-blood life contains, it seems to produce healthy enough students. Although I am willing to admit that I would not have liked for General Snape to lose his temper in there."

"Lose his temper? Don't be ridiculous," said Minerva loftily. "Lance never ever loses his temper. You don't want to see him lose his temper, believe me. No, what you just almost experienced was a punishment ritual. A scheduled event with a fixed durance, which includes the learning by heart of households rules, standing to attention, selecting the implement and other such nonsense. You know, the kind which is considered civilised and necessary for child education among old-fashioned witches and wizards. It is the only area, might I add, where I do get involved in society a bit. Needless to say that my mother disapproves."

Her mother. Suddenly, Severus remembered his wavering resolve of going through with the complex adoption, back there, in the general's office. The one thing that had truly shaken him about this visit into the other reality – his realisation that he had no control over who he would become, once he allowed Minerva's mother to interfere with his past.

"Minerva," he said, stepping out of the What-If box rather abruptly. "Would you prefer to withdraw your offer of marriage under the present conditions of your mother demanding a complex adoption and of my magic… well…" He faltered, failing once again to articulate what was on his mind.

Minerva gave him a long and thoughtful look, then took his hand again.

"I would like to marry Severus the half-blood Prince," she said quietly. "I don't know Severus the pure-blood Snape. Is he a good man or not? Is he trustworthy or not? _You_ don't know Severus the pure-blood Snape. Is he everything you would want him to be? Is he as much of a hero as Severus the half-blood Prince? Is he happy or not?"

Severus looked away. Minerva noticed and took his chin in her left hand, which was warm and soft and felt completely different than it had, minutes ago, when they had dimension-travelled together.

"I will marry you," said the witch quietly. "If you would like to. There is no other condition. My mother may ban us from pureblood society forever, but she will always know that it was our marriage which saved her life and that is going to count more than a hundred complex adoptions, believe me."

Distracted by the softness of her touch, Severus said nothing. Minerva pushed his chin upwards just slightly and forced him to look her in the eye.

"Trust me," she whispered. "I beg you to put your trust in me, Severus, and in the fact that I know my mother and that I know pureblood society. And that all will be well for us."

 


End file.
